Wanna Buy a Base Ship?
by L Zaza
Summary: Season Three, Episode Seven of the Virtual Season Project.  Our heroes depart the battlestar on a training exercise.  Complete!
1. Adama Journal

Wanna Buy a Base Ship?

From The Adama Journals

The Detente with Baltar's renegade Cylons is now in its fourth sectar, a short period of time by the calendar, but more than ever it seems we have begun to divide life itself by how things were before this monumental event, and how it is now. As we as a people become _used_ to the concept of living among Cylons and working with them, our very sense of what it was like to live in such constant fear dissipates, making the old era we lived in seem more and more distant from us. This is a phenomenon we've experienced before in that we came to view the memories of life in the Colonies as distant and much longer ago in our lives than it really is by the calendar. That we've managed to adjust to both of these world-shattering developments and enable life to go on is maybe in the end the greatest testament to the human spirit for endurance and survival. Man has the ability to rise to the occasion when faced with either the darkest of tragedies like the Destruction, or to see a thousand yahrens of perceptions and attitudes handed down from one generation to the next, cast aside for the greater good.

And for now, the Lords have blessed us with a greater good that comes in the form of simple normalcy. No new enemies to challenge us. No old enemies still pursuing us. Our former enemies acting with total deference and cooperation. Even the political situation has cooled off perceptibly, and Siress Lydia is not, so far, living up to her reputation as a would-be menace. I suspect she has found herself enjoying too much the challenge of wooing our recent arrival, Commander Byrne of Earth, to her side. While that is a development that has the potential for disaster from my standpoint, Byrne is surprising me. He clearly enjoys the attention Lydia gives him, which I imagine stems from the many yahrens of loneliness he felt on that level. But if Lydia was hoping that a relationship with Byrne would turn him into an immediate critic of my policies and my leadership role, then she has not succeeded there. Yet she doesn't seem to complain about that. Who knows, perhaps being around Byrne has effected a change for the better in her? If so, then far be it for me to discourage the relationship from continuing.  
>Our warriors are now settling back into a pattern of what "normalcy" can be like when there are no immediate crises to deal with. They must look for things beyond the drudgery of long-range patrols that help to keep the Fleet functioning in other areas. Inspecting our ships. Transporting food and supplies and making sure everyone is looked after. Attending new classes to aid in the development of new technologies from the resources we have available. When these functions become part of a warrior's daily routine replacing the constant call to battle, it can sometimes make warriors think their lives are being wasted somehow. For the most part, that doesn't seem so now. Now that the concept of Detente with these Cylons has been accepted as the norm, most of our warriors seem to revel in the performance of the mundane. It makes the pain of what they and all of us have been through these last two yahrens seem more distant like a receding nightmare, and at the same time, fill us with hope for the future.<p>

However, there are always exceptions to the rule, which brings Lieutenant Starbuck immediately to mind. The same calm that others can finally embrace seems to fill him with unease and restlessness. He would much rather immerse himself in duty than settle into "normalcy" leaving too much time for internal contemplation, I suspect. I realize, though, this has as much to do with his on-going recovery from Combat Stress Reaction as it does his basic personality. I wish I could share stories with him of another young warrior who not only came through the illness whole, but went on to achieve greatness, recorded in the annals of history as one of our greatest inspirational military leaders. I can't help but wonder, do promises made to men supposedly dead carry an expiration date? Somehow I doubt my old friend would think so . . . Yes, oft times Starbuck reminds me of a young Cain, rebelling against the status quo, and instead, marching to the beat of his own tambour. I swear the boy has will, determination and spirit enough to power a battlestar—maybe ultimately to command one—but at this point it needs to be harnessed and directed, lest his somewhat uncanny ability to find trouble in the unlikeliest of places asserts itself once again. I can't help but feel I need to challenge Starbuck somehow to help him overcome any lingering personal demons and reach a potential that I know he can fulfil. The question is _how_.

Overall, both mentally and spiritually our people are healing. In general terms, save the incident with Sergeant Mattoon, my initial fears that the presence of Baltar's Cylons would reopen old wounds haven't been actualized. Still, at times I long for earlier days when laughter came easier and more frequently, especially around my own family, both immediate and honorary. Haunted eyes, quietly exchanged looks and forced bravado are as much the uniform of the day as Colonial beige at my dinner table. Is it only my imagination or have the fates been hardest on those I have put my trust in, that I rely on most? Too much tragedy and drama has befallen those I hold dear, and I wish fervently that I could find some way to restore a youthful joy and vitality that I fear is forever gone.

As for me, upon completion of this entry, I shall find myself as Fleet Commander and President also dealing with my share of the mundane. Reports to go over about the food levels in our Agro ships. A meeting with Wilker on his latest long-range forecast for trying to make something out of the remains of the advanced class Cylon, Septimus. A report on how Commander Byrne plans on introducing his knowledge of Earth to our young. And an interesting proposal from Agro Supervisor Eldritch aboard the Agro Ship . . .


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Command Centurion Moray has informed me, Adama, that as my pilots participate in more and more integrated patrols, they become increasingly curious about humans . . . humans other than _myself_, to be more precise," Baltar informed the _Galactica_'s commander over the security of their private link. "It has occurred to them that perhaps human pilots are different from human Base Ship commanders."

Adama stroked his chin, restraining himself from mentioning that Baltar's words might be considered eligible for the understatement of the sectar. Possibly the yahren. "So they are realizing that different personalities and characteristics belong to different individuals."

"Yes." Baltar smiled. "I wonder if the same recognition of individuality has been noted by your crew about the Cylons?"

"Command Centurion Moray certainly comes to mind," Adama mentioned. "He has a self-awareness and independence that I don't characteristically attribute to the centurion class."

"Indeed. I wonder if the time has come to take a step beyond our integrated patrols in the interest of Cylon-Colonial relations?" Baltar mused.

Adama raised his eyebrows. What in Kobol was Baltar up to now? "What do you have in mind?"

"A sort of_ pilot_ project." Baltar smiled wryly. "Command Centurion Moray has made a request on behalf on the centurions, which is unusual unto itself."

"A request?" Adama echoed.

"Yes. Moray has requested that you send a Colonial Warrior as a sort of envoy to join one of my squadrons for a period of time as yet undetermined, allowing a chance for centurion and warrior to work side by side, face to faceplate, as it were."

Adama's first instinct was to deny the request, imagining a plethora of possible disasters that could result from such an exercise. But then it occurred to him . . .

"I recall an exercise in human relations from when I was boy," Adama began slowly, thinking back to details that hadn't entered his mind in countless yahren. "It took place on Cancera, where I'm sure you recall that there was once a definitive segregation between monotheists and polytheists. Their children worshipped in different temples, went to different schools, associated in different clubs that had their roots in one denomination or the other. Each group was accused of being sectarian, triumphalist and supremacist, and in fact, took turns celebrating their hatred of the others by participating in annual rituals, such as parading from their social halls to their temples. It went on for centi-yahrens."

"I do remember," Baltar replied. "The segregation of the groups perpetuated the hatred and distrust. If I remember correctly, for an experiment they took two orphan boys from Cancera City, one from each group, and transplanted them into smaller communities, having them live with families from the other creed."

"That's right. Upon being immersed into another community, both boys quickly demonstrated an amazing adaptability and resilience indicative of youth, settling into their respective environments, and participating in most facets of their new way of life. When the experiment had concluded, the boys had formed lifelong relationships with their foster families and new friends. They returned to Cancera City with a new understanding of tolerance, understanding and patience."

"But Colonial Warriors and Cylon Centurions are hardly impressionable young orphan boys, Adama," Baltar pointed out.

Adama raised his head at the words, an individual coming to mind. Just as quickly he discarded the idea as too risky. "Yet, I presume this request is being made from a desire to learn more about our kind. That's in itself encouraging."

"Yes, I'm optimistic as well, unless they receive the wrong kind of message, of course."

"You want me to select someone . . . _enthusiastic_ about the Détente?" Adama asked sceptically.

"Actually, no. The last thing I want is the poster boy for the Détente showing up. That's hardly an accurate reflection of what the average Colonial Warrior thinks of our centurions, and I believe it would be perceived as deceitful. Instead, Adama, I want you to send me someone who is well-liked among the warrior-class; someone with the ability to casually win over strangers of all races and creeds; someone who inspires friendship and allegiance; and most of all someone who won't be intimidated by a thousand centurions."

"That's a tall order, Baltar," Adama replied, but he couldn't shake the image that had stubbornly reinserted itself into the forefront of his mind.

Baltar smiled unctuously. "Is it? I'm sure you can find someone that meets our criteria." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, appearing to think about it. "I recall . . . a certain brash young lieutenant that actually persuaded Lucifer to play pyramid with him while he was imprisoned aboard my Base Ship. That's the _kind _of man I'm talking about Adama."

"Are you talking about that _kind_ of man or are you talking specifically about Starbuck?" Adama asked, getting an uneasy feeling about this.

"I'll leave that for you to decide, old friend," Baltar replied casually. He stabbed down and the screen went blank.

"_I'll leave that for you to decide, old friend,_"Adama mimicked, shaking his head. "Lord, grant me patience . . ."

xxxxx

In the privacy of Cassiopeia's new quarters, Starbuck could admit—at least to himself—that it was kind of strange to have a lover who suddenly outranked him, at least technically. Along with Cassiopeia's new designation of physician, she had also become an officer in the medical corps. Of course, there were some perks to that, and Starbuck could easily see past the good-natured ribbing his friends were giving him to the larger quarters, the private turbo wash and the pride his lady took in her well-earned accomplishment.

However, life being what it was, there was apparently a downside to showering off in Captain Cassiopeia's new digs at the start of the daily cycle. He shook his head silently, looking from the bottle of body wash in his left hand to the one in his right. Choices, choices. Did he want to smell like Sagittarian Tropical Ginger or Arian Lavender? One promised to "take him away" while the other offered "additional moisturizing benefits". How could women make something as basic as mere personal hygiene so complicated?

He sniffed one and then the other, wrinkling his nose, finding neither particularly appealing in a _manly_ sense. Sometimes a guy just had to leap into the unknown, taking a chance that things would work out. He squeezed a handful of Tropical Ginger into his palm, opting to ignore the poufy puff ball that Cassie apparently used as a conveyance to get her body wash to her body. Accustomed to the regulation two centon cycle, he quickly lathered up and rinsed off, finding it almost strange that there was nobody there to hold a conversation with or snap a towel at him. Turbo washing in private, what a concept!

Master of the turbo-quick-wash, he was dressed a few centons later, finger combing his damp hair into place. He stepped through into her chambers, watching as Cassie stood in front of a mirror, putting the finishing touches on her hair. Her new uniform didn't look much different from her old one, the lighter beige and the lack of the crest on her shoulders indicating she had left the technical designation behind, rising beyond it to the officer class. She still looked damned fine, proudly wearing her medical corps pin just below her golden neckline, as always.

Starbuck joined her, his arms encircling her waist from behind, pulling her close against him. She smiled at him in the mirror, relaxing into his embrace. Lord's sake, it was good to be able to steal some time alone with her, to stoke the fires of passion that had always been an integral part of their relationship.

"Wanna play doctor?" he quipped playfully, nuzzling her neck, her hair smelling of . . . Arian Lavender, actually.

Her eyes sparkled at the suggestion and she turned in his embrace, putting her arms around his neck. "Wanna buy a Base Ship?" she returned.

He raised his eyebrows, and then grinned at her. "That promotion must be going to your head, sweet lady. Let's see . . . a nice double-saucer capital ship for two, light speed capability, with a hundred defensive turbo laser turrets and two long-range mega-pulsars. If I throw in the optional three-hundred Raiders with flight crews, I'm definitely gonna have to have to get an advance on my pay for this little diversion. I wonder if my good buddy, Boomer, will spot me . . ."

She laughed melodically, nodding towards her personal computron. "Seriously.

Somebody sent me a message, canvassing for bids on the Base Ship. You might want to mention it to Apollo; I can't see Commander Adama being very pleased."

He shook his head in bemusement, moving towards her computron, checking the message. Sure enough she'd received an anonymous offer to bid on the Base Ship. He chuckled, seeing the top offer at this point was a "slightly daggit-eared deck of cards". He plunked himself down on the chair.

"What are you doing?" Cassie asked dubiously, standing behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders.

Starbuck's fingers flitted across the keys as he entered his bid, grinning evilly. "Bidding on a Base Ship."

"Starbuck!" Cassie admonished him, the giggle in her voice betraying her amusement. "What are you thinking, that this is still RB-33 and we're surrounded by those Horks? Commander Adama will strip and module you!"

"Relax, Cass, it's anonymous. Obviously someone is just having some fun, and if that bid is any indication, it's probably my father. Sagan knows we could all use a bit of fun after all the craziness of late."

She leaned down wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek against his, nodding. Then she wrinkled her nose, a spontaneous giggle burbling out of her.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh nothing," she replied mysteriously, glancing at her chrono and standing erect. "We'd better get going. I have to scrub in soon."

"Heavy day?"

"Debulking a muscle flap. Then I have flight physicals, immunization scans, a check-up on Athena's twins, and at least one ultrasound. Nothing heavy." She grinned. "What's on your duty list today?"

"More of the same," Starbuck replied, rising. He pulled her against him for a long, lingering kiss, before adding, "I have to check in at the Duty Office, just in case something new and exciting has come up."

"Like what?" she asked, crossing to the hatch.

"Murderous aliens, inexplicable space anomalies, or least likely of all, decent food in the commissary."

"Ah, the sacrifices you make for the Colonial Nation, Lieutenant," she quipped. "What you warriors go through!"

"I do it out of a sense of moral obligation really, Captain," he replied, stepping over the threshold behind her.

She whirled on him, lightly gripping his flight jacket in two hands. "You don't_ have_ to call me 'Captain', Starbuck."

"No?" he said sceptically, waiting for it.

"No." She smiled mischievously. "_You_ can call me 'doctor'."

xxxxx

"This turbo-wash is _shrinking_," Athena complained, glancing at her husband in the mirror as she reached across him to grab a hair brush.

Only seven sectons away from the due date for their twins, she was almost as big as a Base Ship. However, blessed with a head for both diplomacy and survival, Boomer wasn't about to tell her that. After all, no one knew better than Athena with her considerable back-breaking girth. Hard-pressed to find a bridge uniform that could fit her, she'd had to have one specially made.

"Well, the _Galactica_ _is _five hundred yahren old," Boomer replied, ritually running his fingers down his freshly shaven jaw, "a little shrinkage can be expected after five centi-yahrens."

Athena smirked, leaning forward to slip her arms around him from behind, her protruding belly pressing against his back. "And just how do you explain the shrinkage of solid metal?"

"The molecules constricting in the extreme cold of space," he adlibbed, seeing her eyes sparkle with amusement. "Add to that, of course, the variation in the space between metallic crystals brought on by quantum fluctuations from achieving light speed." He turned slightly, slipping an arm around her. "Another five hundred yahren, and I tell ya, we'll be launching Vipers every time we flush."

She laughed aloud. "I was wondering how you were going to get out of that one."

"The same way I get out of doing duty rosters, quick thinking," he replied, moving out of her way as she began to brush out her long luxuriant hair in front of the mirror.

Boomer hesitated at the doorway, just watching her for a moment. With the blossoming of pregnancy, she'd filled out to his liking, with a healthy glow that left him completely breathless. If it was possible, she was even more beautiful carrying his unborn children than she was when they'd first fallen in love. Looking back, their time together in the forest of Ki seemed so long ago. His chest tightened with emotion. There was an entirely different depth to the feelings he had for her now, yet it was difficult to define without sounding maudlin. The pregnancy hadn't been an easy one, and he could only humbly stand by in awe as she prepared to bring two new lives into the universe.

"I love you, Athena."

"As well you should," she teased him, stilling the hairbrush when she caught his eye in the mirror. Then she turned, her features suddenly serious. "I love you too, Boomer."

"As well _you_ should," he replied with a wink, pulling on his flight jacket.

She turned to finish her grooming. "So . . . are you sure you can't let me in on this secret assignment?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know," he replied, amused that her curiosity was even greater than his own. As usual, when he'd arisen he'd checked his communications for the day. Included among them was a "classified" assignment from Colonel Tigh revealing only that he was supposed to report to Alpha Bay at 1600 centars. Nothing more.

"No idea what it's all about?" she asked.

"No idea," he replied, stepping behind her once more to kiss her on the cheek. "No doubt it's something befitting the special attention of the Red Squadron Leader."

"No doubt," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "It must be time to inspect those shrinking rivets on the _Galactica_'s hull again."

xxxxx

"Baltar specifically asked for _Starbuck_?" Tigh asked Adama, poised on the corner of the commander's desk. "By name?"

Adama hesitated, the events replaying in his mind as he leaned back in his chair. "Yes and no."

"Which means what?"

Adama threw up his hands in the air. "Well, he described Starbuck's character traits, saying that was the _kind_ of man he was looking for, and _then_ he mentioned Starbuck by name. Of course, when I asked him specifically if he actually wanted _Starbuck_, Baltar said it was up to me." He rolled his eyes upward, shaking his head. "But we both knew he was just being . . . _Baltar_."

Tigh smiled ever so slightly at the uncharacteristic display. "Do you think Starbuck is ready for something like this? After all he's been through?"

"I could answer that better if I knew what _this_ was," Adama replied. Abruptly, he thought back to the RB-33 Space Station when Baltar and Ayesha had met the young warrior face to face. Starbuck had been the perfect officer and gentleman with Ayesha, but hadn't even acknowledged Baltar. Of course, in the interest of inter-Fleet relations, it had been preferable to shooting the now-pardoned traitor dead. "Why Starbuck? Does it have something to do with that display at the Space Station? Does Ayesha even _know_ that Baltar's pushing for this?"

"It could be . . . something else," Tigh said enigmatically.

Adama looked up from his desk. "Such as?"

"Command Centurion Moray did mention a thing or two in passing after our patrol launched."

"Today? About Starbuck?"

"Yes."

Adama sighed._ Lords of Kobol!_ "Go on . . ."

xxxxx

"What's a jury?" asked Boxey, hand raised from the back of the room. "Is that an Earth thing?"

"It's a part of our legal system back home on Earth," replied Kevin Byrne, formerly of the planet Earth, and now skipper of the newly-commissioned Colonial warship _Constellation. _"Several nations use them in one form or another."

"You mean you don't use Tribunals?" asked another boy, Kip.

"Not the way you do in Colonial jurisprudence," replied Byrne. "While military justice is structured differently, much like your own, in civilian trials the accused is allowed what we call trial by jury." He looked to Boxey, hand once again up. "Okay, Boxey; the word derives from an ancient word for 'law'. A jury is a body of people, usually twelve in number, who hear the evidence presented during a trial. It can be anything from petty crimes like burglary or theft, all the way up to the most serious kind, such as murder or treason."

"What's 'murder'?" asked Dillon, sitting next to Boxey.

"It's our word for what you call 'termination'. The wilful, intentional killing of another human being."

"Like Ortega," said one of the kids.

"Well, yes,| replied Byrne, who knew of the case only by second hand. "Intentionally causing the death of another person."

"Have you ever been inside one of these juries?" asked Boxey again.

Byrne had to hand it to him; the kid left no stone unturned. Considering that his mother had been an investigative journalist, it was no surprise.

"_On_ one, yes, Boxey. In fact, right after I was eligible to vote, I was selected for jury duty." Byrne went on, to describe the case, a simple one involving a man accused of driving without a license. Then, it was voting, how the courts worked, and such. He had to admit, these kids were no slackers. The differences between two systems, both human yet disparate, really interested them.

"Jag?" asked Tanya, one row up from Boxey. "What's a jag?"

"Oh, sorry. It stands for 'Judge Advocate General'. It's is the Navy's legal branch where members of the Navy and Marine Corps are tried, if necessary. They try the accused in what is referred to as a Court Martial, and the crimes are investigated by the _N.C.I.S., _which stands . . ." He turned around and wrote it up on the board, which at once transferred the writing to each student's data pad. "It stands for 'Naval Criminal Investigative Service'. Similar to your Security Service, aboard the _Galactica_."

"Did you investigate crimes?" asked, of course, Boxey.

"Actually, yes, Boxey. For a while."

He related how, after his ship, the carrier _U.S.S. Constellation_ had been decommissioned in 2003, the former CAG had found himself without a job. While waiting for a response after applying to NASA, a career move that would ultimately bring him to where he stood now, he'd been "asked" by the Navy's Judge Advocate General, Vice-Admiral Lohr, an old friend and sometime drinking buddy, to use the rest of his Navy time to fill a suddenly vacant post in JAG. Byrne had demurred, arguing a lack of legal experience. The Admiral had responded by reminding Byrne of the time when, as CAG, he had assisted N.C.I.S. in investigating and exposing a killer aboard the ship. When he again declined, Lohr reminded him of how slow official paperwork, especially discharges of former CAGs, could be. Now, if he would like, Lohr could...assist in the aforementioned documents moving somewhat faster, and...

Anyway, during his few months at JAG, Byrne had found that he had a flair for lawyering, and had distinguished himself in convicting and putting away various malefactors, from minor offences against regs, to drug smuggling and even sexual crimes. He had actually begun to consider making JAG his permanent billet, when the reply came back from NASA. That and an ugly, bitter divorce, pushed him away from Earth for a while, and he decided to head for space. Maybe, later, when he returned...

"So, Boxey, are you going to be a lawyer, uh, Protector, when you get old enough? You sure seem to have a lot of questions."

"Nope. I'm going to be a fighter pilot just like my dad. And a Strike Captain, too."

Byrne smiled. The kid's enthusiasm was infectious.

"I don't doubt it, Boxey. Not a bit." He turned back to the board.

_Ding. _Time to break for lunch.

"Okay class, this afternoon, a pop quiz. Basic electrodynamics, from theory to fluorescence. Text is on your pads. And remember, I will be merciless!"

xxxxx

"How was patrol?" Boomer asked Starbuck as the lieutenant entered the Duty Room.

"Uneventful," Starbuck replied. "Lots of stars intermingled with lots of space. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before . . ."

"That wasn't exactly the aspect I was referring to," Boomer replied, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head.

"You want to know if I kept it professional with the Cylons?" Starbuck asked innocently. "Absolutely. Followed guidelines to the letter . . ."

"Actually, I want to know if you _really_ think that the most worthwhile of human virtues is 'our ability to have a good time'?" Boomer returned conversationally, recognizing that his friend's answering grin was a verification of the same. "Word has it that's what you told Patrol Leader Plectus yesterday, Bucko."

"Word? As in Book of the-?"

"Word from Colonel Tigh via Command Centurion Moray."

Starbuck grunted noncommittally, leaning across the other to grab a datapad. "I . . . uh, thought I was out of range."

"Of the _Galactica_, not the Base Ship," Boomer replied, wrinkling his nose at the other.

"The Base Ship," Starbuck repeated. "Ya know, that really sounds dull. 'Base Ship'" He shook his head. "It really needs a name, don't you think? How about the _Spinning Top_ . . . then again, it also has a spinning bottom, doesn't it? Might have to rethink that . . ."

"I'm sensing a deflection strategy."

"How's Athena?" Starbuck asked, plunking himself into the chair next to Boomer's.

"You're changing the subject. Again."

"Wouldn't you if you were in my place?" Starbuck flashed him a grin.

Boomer chuckled, shaking his head at the other. "I'm not giving you felgercarb, Starbuck, I'm only wondering by what miracle you managed to get Plectus engaged in conversation yesterday. He's been all cybernetic business up till now. Hades Hole, they _all_ are cybernetic business."

Yeah, trying to engage a Cylon in chit chat was like trying to get action from the Council of Twelve in less than six sessions: clearly impossible. Except he'd actually done it.

"I couldn't take one more long-range patrol with no chatter, Boomer. You know me, unless there's something constructive to do, I hit the turbos and engage my mouth."

"Yeah, I remember it well. Long-range philosophy: some of the most revealing and scariest times I've ever had with you. By the way, seems Plectus took you seriously about your offer to instruct them in "_Human Pleasure 101: How Much Is Too Much Really_?"

"Well, I _am_ the expert."

"Just be careful to keep it _respectful_, Starbuck. We've come too far in the last four sectars to have it screwed up by a loose tongue." He leaned towards his friend. "Having said that, according to Apollo, Colonel Tigh seems to think you made an impression on them."

"A 'get ready to scrub out every turbo flush in the Fleet with your toothbrush' impression or a 'we're not sure how he does it, but isn't he great?' impression?" Starbuck asked casually.

"More like an 'I'm not sure _why_ he does it, but look, he did it again' impression," Boomer replied with a pointed look. "Listen, buddy, I get the idea that something's up, but I'm not quite sure what." He wrinkled his nose again. "Is that you? What the frack is that smell?"

"Sagittarian Tropical Ginger."

"Turbo-washing at Cassiopeia's again?"

"Uh huh."

"How much did you use?"

"Too much, apparently."

"You think?"

xxxxx

"You know someone in line just offered to sell me a Base Ship?" Byrne said, slipping into a seat beside Apollo in the mess, setting down his tray.

"A Base Ship?" Sheba echoed, shaking her head. "_Sell?_ In what sense?"

"You got me. Apparently, all I had to do was beat out a bid for one fumarello stub, well-chewed." Bryne returned with a shrug. "After that, someone behind the chow line started pushing the mystery meat, so I didn't stick around to find out more."

"Probably wise," Sheba said.

"So," asked Apollo, handing the condiments to Byrne, "how's he doing?"

"Boxey? Or the Base Ship salesman?" Byrne quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Good. I mean really excellent. He's so bright, so eager. It's kids like that that make teaching fun."

"He always has been," added Sheba. "And he reads voraciously."

"When he's not playing Starhounds or Compartment Billyarks in the Rejuvenation Centre," Apollo added ruefully.

"Hey, it's good for the reflexes! After all, he told me today he intended on becoming a pilot, like you, Captain Apollo. And that he would end up as Strike Leader."

"Oh he did, did he?" said Apollo, with an ill-concealed grin. "Well, I'd better watch my tail."

"Boxey can be very single-minded, Captain," said Sheba. She and Apollo told him stories, and the former CAG laughed.

"All the way down to a frozen planet? Man, I'd have loved to see that!"

"How's he doing in the rest of school?" asked Sheba. She reached over, as Byrne handed her his pad.

"As you can see, he's doing very well. Except for one low mark in PE . . .uh, what do you call it . . ."

"Gynasionics," said Sheba.

"Right. Except for that, he's exceeding expectations across the board." He shook his head faintly. "For a kid who wants to become a combat level warrior, though, he_ really_ needs to do better there eventually."  
>"I'm not worried about that . . .yet," Apollo said.<p>

"Well, knowing Boxey, he'll be shaving any secton now," said Sheba. She looked at Apollo's growing jungle, suppressing a desire to reach out and run her hand through it.

"I hope not," replied Apollo, scratching his chin. "I'd like adolescence to take a little longer with him." He smiled at Sheba. "I remember how you couldn't wait to get rid of that big beard you had when we first found you. Was shaving standard, in your service?"

"Oh yes," replied Byrne, with a chuckle. "Every day." He leaned his head back a bit, and smiled: "_The face shall be clean shaven unless a shaving waiver is authorized by the Commanding Officer for medical reasons. Moustaches are authorized but shall be kept neatly and closely trimmed. No portion of the moustache shall extend below the lip line of the upper lip. It shall not go beyond a horizontal line extending across the corners of the mouth and no more than 1/4 inch beyond a vertical line drawn from the corner of the mouth. _

_The length of an individual moustache hair fully extended shall not exceed approximately ½ inch refers. Handlebar moustaches, goatees, beards or eccentricities are not permitted. If a shaving waiver is authorized, no facial/neck hair shall be shaved, manicured, styled or outlined nor exceed 1/4 inch in length. Supervisors of individuals with shaving waivers shall actively monitor and ensure treatment regimen is followed."_

"You memorized your service's regulations?" asked Sheba.

"Oh yes. Had to quote them to a junior officer or two, as well, on occasion. There was one exception we _did_ allow, and that to was one specific branch of our service. The submariner division."

"Submariner?" Apollo asked. "You mean under water?"

"Yes, a fairly standard weapons system in our time. Didn't you have anything like that?"

"Well, we did have one or two manned crafts for infiltration operations that had to be done underwater. I'm not sure if we still have anything like that left though."

"That's interesting," Byrne folded his hands, "In my time, we had very _big_ boats that could go underwater for long stretches at a time. Manned by crews of over a couple hundred. I guess you could say the submarine was like a smaller version of a battlestar but adapted to the water. A place where you could spend months . . . sorry, sectars on end locked up inside before your mission ended."

"Underwater for sectars at a time?" Sheba was amazed. "That must have felt so . . . confining!"

"Not a lot different from being stuck on a space ship, really. But at the time I was inclined to agree with you. Why do you think I went into Naval aviation instead?" The US Navy commander smiled.

"But getting back to beards," Apollo said. "Why the exception for them?"

"Simple. Fresh water supplies needed for shaving were sometimes limited in quantity, and electric devices could take up too much power. So that's why waivers could be granted exclusively to that class since it wouldn't make sense to enforce the regulations in a place where it could mean a waste in supplies."

"Sensible of them," Apollo noted. "You never resented it?"

"Nope. I didn't particularly like the bearded look. When I got marooned I kept following procedure up to the day my last razor ran out and I found I couldn't sharpen a knife good enough to get the job done right. So I ended up with that damn rat's nest that I couldn't wait to get rid of once we were rescued, although I think Jen sometimes doesn't recognize me." They all chuckled. "Plus, I have to admit, back in my day there were too many people wearing them who were often, shall we say, a tad unenlightened when it came to politics and their attitudes about the military."

"Oh?" Sheba was intrigued. "How so?"

"That'd be too complicated to explain, short of a full evening of exchanging tales of glory. But rest assured, Captain, your beard doesn't remind me of those people. It looks good on you."

"Thanks. I'm glad there are _others_ who think so too." He put just enough of a sly edge in his voice so Sheba would understand. His wife this time suppressed the urge to give him a playful swat on the shoulder.

"I see the Zohrloch pilots wear them too, along with those ponytails."

"The what?" Sheba frowned.

"You know," he gestured his hand down the back of his neck. "The long hair, all wrapped up like-"

"Oh, the term we use is _equi_tail for that," Apollo corrected. The mention of them made the Captain wonder not for the first time what it would be like if he adopted one of those for himself to complement his beard. The representations of ancient Kobollian warriors he'd seen over the yahrens had indicated that was how they wore their hair, and he had to admit it struck him as an impressive, formidable look.

"I see. Cultural reason behind that, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Apollo. "Once I saw that their situation wasn't interfering with their ability to be effective warriors, I went to Commander Adama and he agreed to a rescinding of the reg regarding beards for pilots."

"Good for him. I think a guy should be able to grow one, if he likes."

"So do I," his wife added. She once more looked admiringly at her husband. "I think the Commander will be pleased."

"I hope so. When he asked me to fill in for the usual teacher, I was surprised. After all, Earth is so far behind you people. But," he shrugged, "the history of early rocketry is much the same for both our cultures, and so is basic physics, once I'd figured out the different notation system. Gravity, thrust, orbital dynamics. Same all over the universe."

"How's flying?" asked Apollo. "Viper time?"

"Racking up as much as I can. Wow, that machine is a pilot's dream!"

"What did you fly on Earth?" asked Sheba.

"The F-15. But next to your stuff . . . it's like a box kite next to a space shuttle."

"When will you get to Earth history?" asked Apollo.

"Depends on what the Super puts into the curriculum, Captain. And of course how long they want me, and if I'm available." He smiled. "But I'm sure Boxey will eat it up."

"Sure will," said Sheba, and they all laughed.

xxxxx

"The latest bid on the Base Ship is a gamma transmitter," Jolly told the others in the mess. "Bloody relic! I can do better than that."

"Don't make it too obvious, Jolly," Giles cautioned him. "I still think that if Core Command gets wind of this, we're all going to be stripped and moduled."

"Actually, Core Command has been noticeably quiet about this," Bojay mentioned, sipping on his java. "They must know it's happening. Everybody's talking about it."

"Then why haven't they come down on us?" Greenbean asked, raising a hideously thick green beverage to his lips, and drinking deeply.

"Probably because they realize it's harmless, unlike that bilge water you're drinking," Dietra said, grimacing. She held up a hand as he slid it across to her in an invitation to try it. "I'd sooner chew Giles' boots."

"Hey!"

"You don't know what you're missing!" Greenbean told her. "It's loaded with vitamins and minerals. Not to mention antioxidants." He took another sip. "Ahhhhh!"

"So is nectar," Dietra returned. "I'll stick with that."

"Dietra is right," Bojay said, suddenly grinning. "About the nectar, as well as the fact that bidding on the Base Ship is just harmless fun. However, the first time we do something to change that, _then_ Core Command will come down on us like a tylinium battering ram."

"Who started it, anyhow?" Brie asked.

"Starbuck!" three voices suggested in concert.

"He denied it when I asked him," Dietra replied, raising her eyebrows.

"I'd deny it too," Giles said.

"Nobody would ask _you_," Bojay replied with a sardonic grin.

"Why not?"

"To put it politely, Giles, orchestrating Fleetwide hijinks isn't exactly your forte," Dietra teased him, her warm, dark eyes sparkling with mischievousness.

"We'd associate you more with . . .oh, I don't know . . . maybe . . . turbo-flush hijinks," Jolly said, chuckling.

"I'm not sure about that, Jolly, a turbo-flush is a highly technical piece of equipment," Greenbean disputed. "Far beyond our boy. However, _mushie_ hijinks . . ."

"Oh yeah?" Giles retorted. "I'll have you all know that I don't even know what 'hijinks' is!" he quipped, as the group broke into easy laughter.

"Well," Bojay said, standing up, "I hate to leave and miss you all discussing the finer points of mushie hijinks, but it seems that I've merited some extra duty this fine day."

"Really?" Dietra replied, also standing. "So have I."

"You too?" Jolly asked in surprise, also standing and tapping his chest.

One by one, the others also stood or nodded, appearing puzzled.

"Alpha Bay, 1600 centars?" Brie asked, watching five bobbing heads.

"What do you figure it's about?" Giles said, pulling at his collar.

"How about a show of hands for those who bid on the Base Ship?" Dietra said.

One by one, they raised their hands.

"Oh frack," Jolly muttered.

"We're doomed," Giles said darkly.

"There is _one_ hope," Dietra said, pausing as they all looked to her hopefully. "That Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh are also practitioners of hijinks."

"Lord Sagan," replied Giles, "we're _really_ doomed!"

xxxxx

It shouldn't be difficult, but it _was_. All Apollo had to do was give his unbiased and professional opinion of whether or not Starbuck could handle this assignment aboard Baltar's Base Ship. But how could _any_ man give an unbiased opinion about his best friend, knowing what Starbuck had been through and how he had handled it . . . or more precisely, how he _hadn't_ handled it.

Dr. Salik's medical reports had declared him fit for duty. But did "fit for duty" encompass thrusting a man onto a Cylon Base Ship, where a woman he had almost called "mother" now resided with the betrayer of mankind? Starbuck had twice been captured by Cylons and unlike most humans, had lived to tell the tale. That being so, how would he react to being _billeted_ with them? Was it too much to ask of the lieutenant still recovering from Combat Stress Reaction? Was it too much to ask of any warrior in the relatively early days of the Détente?

Were they, albeit with the best of intentions, setting up another Mattoon?

Apollo sighed, climbing slowly to his feet and trudging out of the Duty Office. If he could use the Zykonian teleportation machine to insert himself into Starbuck's mind, then maybe he'd have a clearer picture of where exactly his friend was at psychologically . . . but he wasn't willing to make that trip without body armour, a laser turret, fifty kilons of solonite, and a "Get Out of Hades Hole Free" card. With Cassie busy becoming a doctor, and Chameleon occupied on numerous questionable business ventures, Apollo couldn't help but wonder where that left Starbuck these days. After all, his friend at loose ends could be a scary thing . . .

"Hey, buddy! Wait up!"

Apollo slowed down, turning to see the subject of his musings pacing down the corridor. At a glance, Starbuck looked like his old self. Relaxed, smiling, an unlit fumarello in his hand, he looked every bit the carefree Viper Pilot that he had once been. Still . . .

"So what's this assignment you've got us signed up for?" Starbuck asked, clamping his fumarello between his teeth.

"You mean the 'classified' one that you're not supposed to be talking about?" Apollo replied with a faint smile, falling in alongside the lieutenant.

"Hey, anything that arrives on my computron can't exactly be considered _top secret_, Apollo," Starbuck returned, as usual his rationale flawless. He pulled his smoke back out of his mouth, rolling it between two fingers. "What's up?"

"To be honest, Starbuck, I'm as much in the dark about it as you are."

"I thought they only kept us lowly lieutenants in the dark," Starbuck mused. "Exalted strike captains, on the other hand . . ."

"Actually, we only keep _you_ in the dark," Apollo ribbed him. "After all, you once bragged that you did your best work there."

Starbuck grinned lecherously. "I was talking about _space_, of course."

"Of course. What else would you be talking about?" Apollo returned, grinning in kind. "How's your father, by the way?"

"Chameleon?" Starbuck asked, apparently caught off guard by the change of topic. "Why?"

Apollo shook his head, shrugging. "Just wondering. I haven't seen him lately or heard you talk about him. I just wondered how he's faring."

"Oh, is that all?" The lieutenant looked relieved. "He's fine. He's flogging that Zykonian Lagulin that we picked up on Brylon Five, making a small fortune in return."

"So you're finally going to pay off your Shad Zil marker?" Apollo asked, referring to the damage Starbuck had caused in the Zykonian capital when he'd stolen a hovermobile to pursue Korax after the Ziklagi shapeshifter had taken Sire Feo hostage. The Zykonians had demanded financial recompense, and while the Colonial Coffers had covered it, Starbuck was ultimately responsible for the debt, paying a regular stipend from his garnished wages, as a result of his reckless behaviour.

"Uh . . . well . . ."

It was classic Starbuck. Easy come, easy go. Cubits fell through his fingers like drops of water. Apollo rolled his eyes at his friend. "What are you spending it on _this_ time?"

"I have a few ideas that need bankrolling . . ."

"_Starbuck_ . . ."

"I know, I know," Starbuck muttered, throwing up his hands briefly. "But I think that investing in our youth is more important than worrying about a piece of paper that is essentially meaningless. We all know that the Service only expects me to pay back as much per pay period as my wage allows right up until I die, so why waste cubits on paying off my debt load when instead I could. . ."

Either the Battlestar had suddenly flipped over or Starbuck had completely knocked him off balance with this sudden revelation. Apollo grabbed Starbuck by the arm, pulling him to an abrupt stop, gripping him by both shoulders. "Slow down. What do you mean invest in our youth?"

"Kids get bored, Apollo, you ought to know that better than most being a father." He stabbed a finger at the strike captain to drive his point home. "Boredom can only be bad news when they're penned up on a ship, especially if they're anything like _I_ was as a kid. I was talking to Pelias about starting up some new programs, not only on the Orphan Ship, but throughout the Fleet."

"You mean_ Sire_ Pelias?" Apollo asked, releasing him.

"Yeah well," the warrior shrugged nonchalantly, "to me he's still just a kid, only now he has contacts, influence and a new suit. Pelias knows a lot of people in the arts community working on what he calls 'cutting edge' stuff—that's mostly felgercarb to you and me, by the way, but the kids should love it. He also knows more than a few bleeding hearts that used to do charitable work willing to help with some of the details and organizing. Now, I met a couple guys through my father that were amateur gaming system designers in the Colonies. As a way of getting started again, they're keen to set up space for kids on various ships, not only letting them learn how to create their own stuff, but letting them try out games during development. They figure they know enough computron geeks in a similar situation willing to help, but of course, none of them have the equipment, or the cubits, to get started. Then I met this guy on the Senior Ship that's interested in . . ."

"Whoa!" Apollo stopped him. "Where did all this come from, Starbuck?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Just some of the ideas I had sectars ago when I did that two secton stint on the Orphan's Ship helping to initiate some new programs. Then recently when I played Pursuit with Boxey and his friends, it struck me that obviously not every ship has a Rejuvenation Centre. Suddenly I have both the time and the cubits to do something about that, that's all."

Apollo smiled at him, shaking his head in awe as he stroked his beard. Here he'd been worried about Starbuck getting up to no good or wasting his time feeling sorry for himself. Instead, his friend was spreading around his newly found dividends trying to organize entertainment for the youth of the Fleet, trying to keep _them_ out of trouble while he simultaneously gave new life to enterprises that would have been considered superfluous and a waste of resources immediately following the Destruction. It was that lesser seen side of Starbuck that he didn't advertise and at this moment it was downright humbling to witness. His friend was well on his way to recovery from his troubles; but more than that, he was inspiring.

Starbuck screwed up his face in mock disgust, taking a step back and holding up his hands as if to ward off some terrible curse or even worse . . . a manly hug.

Apollo chuckled, reaching out and grabbing his friend by the flight jacket, preventing the retreat. He paused a moment for effect before blurting out, "What the frack is that smell, Starbuck? I want to bottle you and sell you as cockpit freshener!"

Starbuck's jaw dropped in surprise and he laughed aloud, clapping Apollo on the shoulder as they once again headed down the corridor, heading for the turbo-lift. "If you ever climb in the turbo-wash and find nothing there but Sheba's 'body wash', I'm going to warn you now, buddy, only use a _bit_. Hey, that reminds me . . . where_ is_ Sheba?"

"You say that like we're never apart," Apollo pointed out, selecting a level.

"She's not hiding in the beard, is she?" Starbuck teased him. "You know, if it gets any longer, we're going to have to get it licenced . . . maybe give it a name. Possibly even a Nature Eco-Reserve." He narrowed his eyes, as if peering into the aforementioned for any possible life.

Laughter burbled out of Apollo as he raised his hand to stroke his whiskers, while the levels passed by in a blur. "_Lords,_ Starbuck, are these spontaneous or are you saving them up?"

"I lie awake at night, actually . . ."

"Sure you do," Apollo grinned, enjoying the exchange. He and Starbuck were like an old pair of combat boots; even slightly battered and bereft of their newbie shine, they were oh so comfortable. "You know, if there's anything Sheba and I can do to help out with your latest plans for the kids . . ."

"Well, since you mentioned it, I could use an advance on next yahren's pay," Starbuck quipped, before turning to nod gratefully at the captain. This time he was gracious and sincere. "Thanks, buddy. I could use all the help I can get. So . . . where did you stow Sheba? You never said."

"She's meeting us in Alpha Bay."

"She's on the secret mission too, huh? How about Boomer?"

"Yeah, Boomer too," Apollo conceded as the turbo-lift came to a stop.

"Like old times," Starbuck said cheerfully, stepping into the bay.

Apollo liked the sound of that. He stepped forward, draping an arm casually over Starbuck's shoulder. As he knew they would be, Boomer, Athena, Sheba, Cassiopeia, Jolly, Greenbean, Bojay, Giles, Dietra and Brie were standing alongside a shuttle, waiting for them. The group looked over at them expectantly, then like a well-rehearsed dance troop all raised their arms, turned over their wrists and looked at the chronometers, tapping them suggestively while trying out several indignant bordering on clownish expressions.

"I think they're trying to tell us something," Apollo murmured, realizing the brief conversation he'd had with Starbuck had delayed them a few centons too many. All the same, there was a relaxed and casual atmosphere that suggested this secret mission wasn't exactly about life or death.

"Good of you to show up, Captain, Lieutenant," Colonel Tigh suddenly said, stepping off the shuttle, glowering at them. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking them over derisively for a long moment before he cracked a smile. "Starbuck, you'll be late for your own funeral."

Starbuck grinned. "I have been a few times, Colonel. By the grace of the Lords of Kobol, I will be again and again."

"Alright everybody, listen up," Colonel Tigh said. "We're bound for the Agro Ship, Operation Hoopla will be commencing in thirty centons."

"Operation _Hoopla_, Colonel?" Apollo asked, unable to stop the smile from creeping over his features.

"Yes, Captain," Tigh replied, turning to board the shuttle. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "By the way . . . anybody wanna buy a Base Ship?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The manmade facsimile was as close as this group of spacefaring travellers on a quest to another star system could get to a real temperate forest. Those that hadn't before stepped foot inside Auxiliary Dome Five aboard the Agro Ship seemed to hold a collective breath as they beheld the spectacular scenery upon clearing the lower levels. The sparkling lake and waterfall were encircled by clusters of trees native to the Colonies. Vibrant and lush foliage was richly dotted with the yellows, oranges and reds, which—had they been planetside—would have indicated the passing of the autumnal equinox. Fresh evergreen pine mixed with the clean organic scent of decomposing matter, while the twinkling of the stars above seemed to smile down upon them in the artificially created twilight. The birds sang a song of carefree happiness, which lifted spirits at the same time as it lowered stress levels. The temperature was cool, but comfortable as the young people finished donning the camouflage jumpsuits they'd been given. On the ground in front of them were full face helmets and some kind of air-powered rifles with reservoirs.

"You've been seconded to the Agro Ship today as part of the Force Grow Cycle process," Tigh informed them. "Agro Supervisor Eldritch will brief you more thoroughly on our expectations from his point of view."

"Thank you, Colonel Tigh," Eldritch said, not looking up from where he was pouring small beads into the reservoirs on the air rifles. He selected one bead, holding it up between thumb and forefinger as he climbed to his feet. Briefly, he scratched his scraggily beard, his startling aquamarine eyes looking at them beneath the floppy rim of his hat. As usual, his trademark coveralls and boots were covered in dirt. "As you all likely know by now, here on the Agro Ship we convert artificial sunlight into raw foodstuffs at an average efficiency of eighty-four per cent using the Force Grow Cycle for maximum efficiency. Most Colonials are surprised to discover the vast array of foodstuffs available in the temperate forest, such as nuts, fruits, mushrooms, sugar sap, piscon, edible tubers, wild greens and numerous herbs." He paused for a moment, gazing out over the lake. "No, we're not just a wasteful recreation retreat for the wealthy of the Fleet, as some have claimed."

"Who's claimed that?" Sheba interjected. "The rec facilities here aren't designed for Elite Class. They're for the ordinary people who can afford to pay their way in for a few centars of fun and relaxation."  
>"I think he's talking about Zara's IFB editorial last week. She figured that the space would be better utilized to grow more fresh food. She focussed on the swimming and didn't say a word about what was grown here," Starbuck said.<br>"Exactly, Lieutenant. I think she did all her research from the bottom of the waiting list," Eldritch added with a snort.  
>"Kobol help us all the day Zara's opinions reflect those of <em>any <em>sensible thinking person in the Fleet!" Starbuck said, securing the fastening on Cassiopeia's collar. "So anyway, what's with the beads, Eldritch?"

"Ammunition . . . as well as time released nutrients, Starbuck, all part of the acceleration process," the Agro Supervisor replied. "Usually, we use an agro spreader or filter it through the water system, but when Colonel Tigh approached me about reviving the Arduum . . ."

"The _what_?" Cassie asked.

"The Arduum," Apollo replied, glancing at Starbuck. "It was an Academy training exercise, usually reserved for upperclassmen involving simulated missions."

"What do you mean by _usually_?" Bojay asked. "I thought that was a hard and fast rule."

"You tell them, Starbuck." Apollo nodded at him.

"All it took to break that rule was sufficiently ticking off Colonel Namara at the Academy," Starbuck said with a shrug.

"_Nutty_ Namara?" Sheba interjected. "He was _always_ easy to tick off!"

"True, but trust me, I had a special knack for it," Starbuck went on. "I was a yahren behind Apollo, but Namara still threw me to the daggits, putting both of us in the Arduum at short notice after Apollo talked me into borrowing the colonel's hovermobile one night in Caprica City when we were going to miss curfew . . ."

"Whoa!" Apollo protested. "_Who_ talked _who_ into borrowing the hovermobile? You're the one who hot-linked it!""

Starbuck laughed in reply, leaving no doubt as to the accuracy of his retelling. "That's the way _I_ remember it, buddy."

"You were drunk!"

Starbuck waggled his eyebrows and grinned mischievously. "You were drunker."

"Hmm, Drunk and Drunker. I think I heard tell of you both in the old days," Bojay said with assumed fond remembrance.

Sheba muffled a giggle with her hand. It wasn't often she heard tales about this side of Apollo. "So . . . who's more likely to give me an accurate account of this story? I think we need to hear it."

"I second that," Greenbean said.

"Suffice it to say that we had to do a night jump at ten thousand metrons, boonie bash our way on foot to a simulated Cylon Base built into a mountainside, penetrate it, disable the hangar doors so no Raiders could take off during a planned air strike, and make it back to our rendezvous, _all_ within four centars," Apollo told them.

"While hung over," Starbuck added. "It was supposed to be an impossible mission, but we pulled it off . . . super warriors that we are."

"And how many beautiful women did you save along the way, Starbuck?" Cassie teased him.

"Ah . . . only one," he replied, putting a hand over his heart and looking off into space theatrically.

"And_ she_ tried to abandon him injured on a mountainside with an air strike coming in," Apollo told them ruefully.

"You must have made quite the impression on her, Starbuck," Athena ribbed him, trying not to explode laughing.

"I do have a way with women," he retorted with a grin.

"Or so he keeps telling us," Jolly said.

"Okay everyone, this trip down Memory Lane is over," Colonel Tigh interrupted. The loose banter among the warriors was good to see because obviously the right tone had been set, but even on an excursion like this there came a point when he needed to keep things from getting too far out of hand. "Some of us need to get back to the bridge."

"Sorry, Colonel," Starbuck said with appropriate deference. "We're all ears."

"Thank you, Starbuck," Tigh said with just enough of an edge to remind him of his authority. "I'll give you a brief overview of how this works. We'll form two teams and present a scenario for you to play out. There are sensors in your jumpsuits and helmets that will register each time you get shot. Shots to the head or chest are considered lethal. Your helmets will provide you with night vision, and as well will let you know when you've been hit or killed. When a red light floods your field of vision, you're out of the game."

"Maybe I'll just sit out now," Cassie said, rolling her eyes as she hefted the rifle. "I don't even think I could fire one of these, let alone hit anything with any accuracy."

"Just aim at me," Athena told her dryly, turning sideways and presenting her fruitful and expansive form. "How can you miss?"

"You know, Cassiopeia and Athena have a point," Dietra said. "Besides Cassie being a doctor and Athena being extremely pregnant . . ."

"With twins," Athena reminded them.

"With twins," Dietra conceded with a nod, "there are those of us that started out as shuttle pilots." She nodded at Athena and Brie. "We didn't get much in the way of infantry training at the Academy. The way I see it, that gives more experienced warriors like Starbuck and Apollo, as well as anyone else who participated in the Arduum, quite an advantage in this little exercise."

"Yeah, maybe there's a way to even the playing field," Brie agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hey, this is supposed to be fun!" Giles returned.

"Oh, it _will_ be!" Dietra replied, eyes sparkling.

"What do you have in mind, Lieutenant?" Colonel Tigh asked.

xxxxx

Siress Lydia looked over the report on food shipment quotas that required her formal seal as Vice President of the Council of Twelve. She affixed her custom-designed stamp with the logo of her home planet of Ares halved with that of her own family, and then found herself chuckling at the irony of it all as she set the documents aside.

_Lords of Kobol, is it actually true? Mountains of boring bureaucratic work to go through, and I'm actually enjoying it!_

It was, she had to admit, a complete turnaround from how her career as a member of the Council of Twelve had started after the Holocaust. Back then, it had just been a ceremonial obligation to her. Something that gave her a title that could make her feel important, but as far as actual work was concerned that was something she could just ignore completely and show deference to those who were more knowledgeable in such matters.

Her relationship with the now-imprisoned Sire Antipas had changed her attitude considerably. Antipas had seduced her in the hopes of making her a political ally in his plans to eventually oust Adama from leadership. Her discovery of Antipas's past crimes had enabled the relationship to change to one where Lydia could emerge as the dominant partner in the relationship, and she had enjoyed it. Enjoyed the hold she could exercise over Antipas, and also enjoy the fact that studying Antipas's ruthless political acumen, could also train her to enjoy the fine arts of exercising political power. Now, the dividends had come through for her. She was rid of the baggage Antipas had become to her, and she had emerged as the first ever Vice-President in the history of the Council. Enjoying a level of deference and authority that no other member, save Adama, could claim. And what helped her was that she had a trump card that required Adama to give her this deference. Prior to the battle with the Cylons that had resulted in Baltar's defection, it was herdiscovery that the brainwashed Sire Geller had been the mole broadcasting intelligence back to the Cylons. Passing that information to Adama at a critical moment had been the key to making him realize that Baltar's offer of defection was genuine, since up to that moment Adama had been conditioned, not without reason, to view Baltar's offer as a trap. That meant ultimately, it was Lydia who had been responsible for saving Adama from making a disastrous decision that would have possibly resulted in the destruction of the Fleet.

Knowing she held that upper hand over Adama, and that the Commander didn't dare risk doing anything that could undermine her position, Lydia had chosen to play things cautiously and carefully ever since the Detente had begun, making no move to overly challenge Adama's authority. In fact, she realized that Adama tended to be more unnerved by the fact that for now she wasn't acting to undercut him. As if he knew that it was only a matter of time before she would act, and he was waiting impatiently for her to get on with it. So be it. Sensing that attitude in Adama was something she actually enjoyed seeing.________

The one area where she had chosen to make a pre-emptive move against Adama had been her subtle, but determined pursuit of Commander Byrne. From her standpoint, if she ever hoped to challenge Adama's authority, the support of the Earth native would be critical. And the way to achieve that was to capitalize on Byrne's many yahrens of loneliness for female companionship of a kind his daughter could never provide. To her delight, Byrne had been receptive. Hades Hole, more than! Enjoying her company. Enjoying . . . her in every facet. And she had enjoyed him as well. She had come to recognize that her one-sided dominating hold over Antipas had lost much of its appeal to her by the time it ended. Byrne was no docile daggit and was enjoying her on his own terms, and she liked that. That meant Byrne would be more apt to trust her eventually for reasons that were far more meaningful.______________

And the way to get him to maintain that respect for me is to keep playing the loyal, patriotic Vice President who would only challenge Adama in the event of something serious, she smiled with a wickedly wry edge as she spared a centon to check the status of the latest bid on the Base Ship on her personal computron. It wouldn't take much to beat a fava bean. A centon later she went back to the paperwork. And just like the first batch she'd gone through, none of it seemed boring in the slightest.

xxxxx

Apollo could still picture the expression on Tigh's face when Dietra had suggested that the ideal way to even the playing field with the two "super warriors" that had excelled at the Arduum was for everybody else to track, pursue and capture them, all in the interest of honing their own personal field skills, of course. Giddy with a hint of sardonic malevolence could best describe the colonel's reaction as he snorted with approval while others tittered and guffawed in apparent delight. Apollo and Starbuck, much to the ladies' evident pleasure, had been less enamoured with the idea.

"Time check?" Starbuck puffed through the helmet microphone, dodging the branch that suddenly sprang back at him as Apollo led the way uphill through the brush at a feverish pace.

"About five centons . . . since you last asked," Apollo panted, still trying to get accustomed to the enhanced vision in his visor since "night" had fallen in the temperate rainforest biome. "Ever heard of a chrono, Starbuck?"

"Mine broke with the backlash . . . after you crashed through those . . . those willow whips like a . . . like a bull-headed mastodon," Starbuck gasped, stopping to catch his breath. He looked back down the hill, trying to spot any sign of pursuit.

"You mean a _bull_ mastodon," Apollo replied, taking a few microns before he realized his friend had dropped behind. He halted his relentless pace, turning to wait.

"No, actually I don't."

"Don't tell me you're losing your enthusiasm already?" Apollo asked him, checking his chrono as his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest. His beard itched, and sweat was trickling down his back and armpits, but weirdly he felt invigorated. Pitting his abilities and endurance against his fellow warriors', all in the name of collectively improving their overall performance while also just hanging out with friends . . . hey, it was a good day.

"Oh, it's around here somewhere. Hello? Hello, Enthusiasm?" The lieutenant looked around, as if searching for it. He kicked over a rock. "Nope, not there either. Probably stayed behind with my battered chrono and my crazy idea that we'd come here for a good time."

"Starbuck!" growled Apollo. "We have another three and a half centars of this, you know. Don't tell me that you're going soft on me?"

"Soft? Me? God forbid," Starbuck panted, loosening the collar at his throat. "But even you must realize that we could bust out of this biome and find a nice cushy armchair in the environmental control centre, turn on the vid feed and sit and watch them all searching for us. Imagine the look on Sheba and Boomer's faces when they realized. Wouldn't that be more fun?"

Apollo couldn't help but laugh, picturing that flash of teeth beneath the full face helmet. If Starbuck _had_ to operate in the field at optimum efficiency on no rest, little rations and his irrepressible personality, then _he_ could. He'd already proven it. That said, his good buddy felt little inclination to repeat that performance unless his future or his life were at stake.

"Wouldn't that be cheating, buddy?" Apollo pointed out.

"I'd prefer to think of it as advanced tactics in armchair commandeering," Starbuck replied, resuming his advance until he drew abreast of the captain. Again, he turned to look back, his air-rifle fanning the landscape from right to left. Even protesting, he was still watching their astrums. "I got 'em."

"Where?"

"Two-hundred and seventy degrees," Starbuck replied, nodding in that direction as he spoke. "Just one team that I can see, at least so far."

"I see the second," Apollo said, taking a step forward, and then hesitating as he waited patiently for the movement that he'd seen to declare itself one way or the other.

"Where?"

"Fifty degrees, ahead of the others," Apollo replied, reaching up to adjust the magnification on his visor. If he wasn't mistaken, it was Jolly out in front. The focus blurred as he tried to sharpen the view, the controls more sensitive than those he'd been used to.

"Yeah, got 'em. I see Jolly, plain as day."

"Do you think he sees us?" Apollo asked, readjusting the resolution.

"Only if you think him waving at me is an indication of that." Starbuck raised his left hand, evidently waving back. "Otherwise, nah."

Apollo ducked down low, pulling his friend along with him. Just as quickly he realized he'd been set up. "You were kidding."

Starbuck chuckled aloud, confirming it.

"Seriously. What do you think?" the captain encouraged him, squatting there.

"That the armchair is looking better and better."

"Starbuck!"

"Two teams. Flank attack, I figure. Staggered envelopment, trying to get us to bolt from one into the waiting air-rifles of another."

"Not bad, buddy," Apollo agreed. "Maybe you're not going soft, after all."

"How seriously do you think they're taking this?"

"Fairly seriously," Apollo replied. "How seriously are _you_ taking it?"

"Not very," Starbuck admitted, "but I can't help being me. You?"

"I want to win," he admitted, his wry smile kept to himself. "After all, if I don't, Sheba will never let me live it down."

"Hmm, never thought of it that way," Starbuck replied, chuckling under his breath. He sat back on the ground, arms resting loosely on his knees.

"We have our reputations to uphold, Bucko," Apollo determinedly urged him. With Starbuck, you just had to know the right buttons to push. "Besides, the odds are nine to two against us and Boomer talked me into a small wager . . ."

"_How_ small?"

"Oh, a hundred cubits," Apollo replied casually.

"_What?_ You were wagering on this and nobody told me?" He pointed to himself. "_Me_?"

"Hey, we're friends, aren't we?" Apollo reassured him, waving a hand in dismissal. "I knew you'd want in. I covered your bet, buddy."

The lieutenant sat there in silence for several microns, before dropping a knee and dramatically swinging his air-rifle to point at the captain. "Who are you and what have you done with Apollo?"

Apollo laughed. "Hey, I can be spontaneous!"

"Only when it fits into your calendar," Starbuck replied, lowering the weapon.

"I resemble that remark," Apollo said ruefully.

"Then we're in agreement. What's the _real_ story?"

Apollo sighed. "Boomer figured on you cutting out when we came across the first hatch out of the biome. He thought if we sweetened the pot a little you might stick around and make things more interesting."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"We both did."

Another long moment passed in silence while Starbuck apparently thought about it.

"A hundred cubits, huh?"

"_Each_. Jolly, Giles, Greenbean and Bojay are in too. That could go a long way to funding one of those ideas you were talking about for the kids, Bucko. If we win, you can have my share of the winnings."

"Seven hundred cubits," Starbuck said, slowly climbing to his feet. "You guys disappoint me."

Apollo looked over at him in surprise. "How so?"

"Something wrong with the _ladies'_ cubits?" he asked.

Apollo sniffed in amusement. "Then you're in? We play to win?"

"We play to win. Let's annihilate them."

"You want to _annihilate_ our friends?"

"Well, in a warm fuzzy sort of way . . ."

"You need help, buddy," Apollo ribbed him.

Starbuck laughed maniacally as they resumed their trek uphill.

xxxxx

Ayesha slipped the note into the pocket of her skirt, letting it disappear into the folds of silken fabric as she entered the quarters she shared with Baltar. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering involuntarily. There was a cold, soulless austerity on this ship that she couldn't seem to get accustomed to no matter _how_ long she dwelt here. Having spent sectars caring for those who could no longer care for themselves on the Senior Ship, she was no stranger to stark, unadorned surroundings. Yet even the simplest of human dwellings still managed to exude some warmth or feeling that simply didn't exist on a Cylon Base Ship.

At times it felt like she was travelling in another dimension, where she had to learn the rules to life all over again, nothing familiar or by rote. It made her wonder how Baltar had survived mentally intact during his prolonged isolation among Cylons. Generally, he'd been a social animal back on Piscon, not inclined to prefer his own company if he had any choice in the matter. But then Baltar had been a different man back then, not prone to internal contemplation . . . just as she'd been a different woman.

_Lords, we were all different._

"Chilled, Ayesha?"

Baltar slipped a shawl over her shoulders from behind, tenderly lifting her grey-streaked dark hair off her shoulders, letting it sift through his fingers.

"A little. Thank you, Baltar," she murmured, smiling as he put his arms around her, pulling her back against his warmth. She rested her hands over his.

"I thought I should mention we may be getting a . . . a _visitor_ aboard."

"A visitor?"

"Yes. Strangely the request came from Moray. He wants to learn more about humans, first hand."

"Oh?" she asked, her tone neutral but her heart rate accelerating.

"There's a frontrunner that I thought I should mention to you, since I believe you know him."

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Starbuck," Baltar said, his body tensing as he waited expectantly for her response.

Ayesha nodded slowly, stroking Baltar's arm absently. "I see."

"When we ran into him at the RB-33 Space Station, you seemed to be _fond_ of him." His tone dripped with disapproval. "He seemed to return the sentiment, if I recall correctly."

"He's a fine young man, Baltar. A credit to the uniform."

"Is that all?" Baltar asked, his tone implying so much more.

Ayesha slowly turned in his grasp, placing her arms around his neck. Her words were sincere and heartfelt. "I could be his mother."

It was the truth, after all. If Baltar hadn't come along when he had, right now she'd be married to Chameleon, and Starbuck would be her step-son. Even now when she thought of Chameleon her heart seemed to melt with an inanely simple joy. Having loved and lost already, he had given everything within his power and withheld nothing. Walking away from the only love and family she'd known since the Destruction to act as a liaison between Baltar and the Fleet was one of the most difficult emotional decisions she'd ever made. That initial loss had been hard to bear, tearing her heart to shreds, even as she gathered her resolve around her like a cloak of invulnerability. Even realizing the importance of her role, it was difficult to let go of her considerable guilt at leaving Chameleon. It was the greater part of why she'd intervened now, scheming to manipulate a situation as fluidly as if she were still a noblewoman on Piscon.

Baltar's eyes searched hers for a long centon. Then his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "Of course. Forgive me. I blame it on your beauty; you've bewitched me, befuddled my judgment."

There was a new tenderness and appreciation in Baltar that had come with experience and survival. He had taken a leap of faith when he joined the Fleet, and it was up to her to make sure he didn't falter. It had helped when she had forced a clearing of the air between them right after their reunion, when she had looked him in the eye and asked the simple question of "Why?" when it came to his decision to betray humanity. For the first time, Baltar had been forced to explain things in a way where he couldn't cling to his patented rationalizations. He had been made to humble himself before her, and it had enabled him to realize that their reunion was going to require even more changes on his part. So far, he hadn't disappointed her.

"I thought I'd lost that ability long ago," she told him softly.

"No." Her husband shook his head, sighing. "It's not for certain, by the way. Adama may not release Starbuck. After all, he was a prisoner here once . . . not that I'll be inviting him by for grog and victuals." He smiled mischievously.

Ayesha raised her eyebrows, truly surprised. Starbuck had never talked about being held a prisoner on a Cylon Base Ship, not to her, nor to his father. Would such an assignment be traumatizing for the young man? For a micron she wondered if she'd done the right thing . . .

"It was Moray who asked for him, Ayesha, not I," Baltar said.

She couldn't help but feel amused. Her husband was reassuring her that he wouldn't put her in a compromising position just to get to the bottom of her "relationship" with Starbuck. In truth, while she knew Baltar hadn't orchestrated the situation, she also knew he _would_ think of a way to capitalize on it. Could he get Starbuck to talk about Chameleon, revealing her one weakness, her best kept secret? The thought was distasteful just now, which might be a reflection that her feelings for Chameleon were still strong, although she repressed them with all her will.

"I believe you, Baltar."

At her words, her husband's face shone with a simple joy that was almost heartrending. They still had a long way to go towards rebuilding their relationship, but trust was a crucial starting point.

He kissed her tenderly as a light began flashing over his desk. He lingered a bit longer before whispering reluctantly, "Duty calls, my dear. I must return to the Command Centre."

"I know."

As she watched him leave, once again her fingers found their way into the pocket of her skirts where Chameleon's note of a few days ago was still secreted away. The note was respectful in every regard, yet begged a favour that only a father could ask. Chameleon didn't offer details, but was anxious that Starbuck's life might be in danger, yet again. Being the old conman that he was, he was trying to handle the matter delicately, accessing a variety of contacts that he knew. Ayesha could imagine him deciding the subtle approach would be preferable to the presumed blunderings of Colonial Security. And where better to get Starbuck legitimately out of harm's way than on assignment on the Cylon Base Ship?

It had only taken a brief conversation in passing with Command Centurion Moray, during which she had naturally and adroitly led the Gold Cylon to the conclusion that a Colonial Warrior should come aboard as a test project. She smiled ever so slightly at the ease at which it had been accomplished. By the grace of the Lords of Kobol, Starbuck had done the rest the next day on patrol, making an impression on Moray that she couldn't have planned even if she'd tried. Now the rest was up to Adama.

Now if she were the wagering kind . . . She smiled at the random thought recognizing its source beyond doubt as blue eyes smiled at her through the soothing comfort of her memories. With a sigh, Ayesha pulled her hand from the softly crinkled paper, and smoothed down her skirt. The rest was out of her hands.

xxxxx

"So I point _this_ end," Cassie said, demonstrating comically with her air-rifle, "and hold _this_ end. Hmm?"

"Looks about right," Athena said, one hand on her expansive tummy as she walked beside her friend, her own weapon slung over her shoulder, looking for all the Colonies like the poster girl for the conquest of a maternity ward. "Stop worrying. Just think of it as a nice walk in the woods, Cassie."

"I'm not good with firearms, never mind night vision helmets. Now give me a scalpel or a needle . . ."

"Don't worry. It'll be easier than Gamoray was," Sheba called back to her.

"Especially on me," Bojay added lightly, pausing on the path ahead of them, and allowing them to catch up. Up ahead of them Giles was on point.

"If you remember, I didn't actually have to _shoot_ anything on Gamoray, Bojay," Cassie told him, recalling those long centons that seemed to stretch on endlessly when she'd stood watch over the injured Bojay, anxiously awaiting the return of the rest of the team. It had seemed that every flickering shadow had been a Cylon waiting to strike her down, and every inexplicable noise had been a harbinger of doom.

"Too bad the Cylons couldn't say the same," Bojay replied wryly, evoking laughter from the women. "Why don't you try it out, Cassiopeia? Pick a target and shoot. Think of it as contributing to the ecological hyper-cycle of the forest."

Cassie blew out a short breath. "Only a Colonial Warrior could make firing a weapon sound like a nurturing experience."

Bojay shrugged. "Not buying that? Fine, then just shoot the bush. I promise you, you'll feel better afterwards." He pointed at a wide swath of brambles about five metrons away. "Imagine your enemy about to leap out of there . . ."

"You mean _Starbuck_?" she asked pointedly. "And Apollo?"

"Cassie, did you know when Starbuck found out that you, Sheba and Bojay were on the Gamoray team that he told Boomer 'with support troops like this, who needs Cylons'?" Athena regaled them.

Bojay laughed. "I remember things being a little tense at that moment. Who can blame him, really?"

"Oh, I think I could work myself up to it," Sheba said, humour in her tone as she lined herself up dramatically, aiming her weapon. "Let's obliterate the bush, Cassie. Are you in, Athena?"

"Oh definitely," Athena agreed, standing a few paces away from Sheba. She looked at the readout on her weapon. "Target acquisition . . . Star_bush_."

Cassie giggled, moving to stand between them. "You two are too much."

"Ready . . . aim . . ." said Bojay.

"Fire!" cried the three women together, peppering the brambles with eco-beads.

_Popopopopopsplat!_

"_Aarrgghh_!"

"Hold your fire!" Sheba yelled, lifting her weapon in astonishment at the cries of surprise emanating from behind the brambles.

"That sounded like a woman!" Athena exclaimed.

"Show yourself!" Bojay ordered, his weapon one of four now trained uncertainly on the brambles.

Slowly, two brow-ridged forms rose from the bushes, revealing the heads and bare shoulders of the Kians, who regularly worked on the agro ship cataloguing plant forms and performing numerous other tasks found for them by Carmichael. Lazily, they adjusted their suddenly phosphorescent clothing. Microns later the eerie glow had already began to dissipate as the force grow chemicals were absorbed into the environment.

"Pili! Kudur-Mabug!" Athena exclaimed. "Are you alright? We didn't mean . . .!"

"Something we say?" Pili remarked wide-eyed, a slow grin spreading across the red-head's lips as she looked up at her man.

"Or something we _do not_ say," Kudur-Mabug added slyly, pulling a scrap of cloth up to cover his mate's shoulder.

Stunned silence was followed a moment later by uproarious laughter, the Kians laughing loudest of all.

xxxxx

"What's the latest?" Omega asked, leaning over Rigel's shoulder, voice low so as not to be overheard by the next operative on the Bridge.

"A bracelet," Rigel commented, shrugging. "Woman's."

"Are you going to bid on the Base Ship?"

"What makes you think I haven't?" she asked, an enigmatic smile creeping over her features. "After all, I could use it for those secton-end space cruises I've been missing out on."

Omega laughed. "The _coiled_ _braid_ was yours, wasn't it? I knew it."

Rigel lightly touched her dark hair, replying elusively, "Whatever do you mean?"

Omega grinned at her, taking the seat beside her for a moment as they watched the latest bid on "Wanna Buy a Base Ship?" update once again. Bids were rolling in about every centon now.

"_Two overly distracted Bridge Officers_ . . ." Omega recited slowly, as the new text appeared on screen. Then he felt _it._ That sense that he was being watched as a cold chill ran down his spine vertebra by vertebra. Instinctively, he hunched down inconspicuously before both he and Rigel slowly turned in their seats to behold Commander Adama, glowering at them from the command dais.

Adama cleared his throat noisily, one hand lingering on a keypad.

"Duty calls," Omega hastily said, springing up from the seat.

"And Colonial Warriors answer," Rigel replied, whipping back around, still feeling the scathing gaze of Commander Adama on her back as she collapsed the dual screen updating bids on the Base Ship.

Then it suddenly occurred to her: _Adama_ had just bid on the Base Ship! A giggle burbled out of her and she guiltily put her hand to her mouth, hunching down in her seat to make herself less conspicuous. At the joyous and spontaneous sound, a sea of smiles lit up the Bridge. Adama sat back, his hand covering the infectious grin on his usually stern features.

"Status report on our patrol?" Adama requested a micron later, regaining control of his Bridge.

"Yes, sir . . ."

xxxxx

"_Aarrgghh! Get me down from here_!"

It had been unexpected to say the least. One centon Greenbean had been several paces ahead of Boomer on a path through the Agro Dome's forest. Muscles tensed. Rifle at the ready. The next, he had been hanging upside down, suspended from a coniferous tree branch metrons above them.

Dietra, Brie and Boomer stood side by side, laughing aloud as the lanky blond Colonial Warrior swung back and forth by one leg, caught in some kind of snare. Jolly suddenly appeared, obviously doubling back when he had heard the uproar. The heavy-set lieutenant stumbled to a halt, resting his hands on his hips and joining the laughter.

"They got you good, Greenbean!" Jolly sputtered. "See any Cylons from up there?"

"_Get me down_!" Greenbean repeated, his hands flailing in the air as he arched off to the right.

"It might just take us a few centons to figure out _how_," Boomer remarked, looking up at the tall tree and shaking his head. The branch supporting the warrior had to be about ten metrons above them.

"Is now a good time to mention that I don't exactly excel at tree climbing?" Jolly asked humorously, moving to join the group.

"I wish I could have been here to hear Starbuck talking Apollo into going up there," Dietra chuckled.

"How do you know it wasn't the other way around?" Brie asked.

"I'm with Dietra. Starbuck doesn't go that high without his Viper," Boomer returned, nodding. "It'd make his nose bleed. It had to be Apollo. But I'm surprised they took the time . . ."

"Definitely risky," Jolly agreed. "We could have stumbled across them . . ."

"Then again, if they _were_ up a tree, we might not have noticed them," Brie added.

"Good point. But we've already determined the unlikelihood of _Starbuck_ climbing the tree," Boomer pointed out. "He'd have been on the ground laying the snare, camouflaging it. Nice job, actually."

"Would you quit admiring the technique and _get me down_!" Greenbean begged them, his momentum still carrying him back and forth.

"It might just take a few centons to figure out _how_," Boomer repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, his air-rifle supported by a strap on his shoulder.

"Especially with you all just standing there, pointing and laughing at me!" Greenbean accused them. "You're all enjoying this! I know it!"

"You know, he has a point," Dietra remarked. "Perhaps we're not making the most constructive use of our time. We are supposed to be treating this like a mission, not a comedy routine."

"You think?" Greenbean asked, swinging away from them one more time.

"I suppose the most _effective_ use of our time would be to leave him here and just keep going," Jolly pondered.

"That's not even funny!" Greenbean hollered. "I'm serious, guys! All the blood is rushing to my head! My eyes feel like they're going to pop!"

"All in favour of getting Greenbean down?" Boomer asked.

"Can we have something to eat first?" Jolly interrupted. "All this excitement is making me hungry."

"Rations might be nice," Dietra said, nodding. "A team that snacks together, attacks together."

Brie groaned aloud. "Is that the best you could come up with, Dee?"

"I'm just warming up. Besides, it's delaying that pivotal moment where we start debating who's going to climb the tree."

"What I'd like to know is when we went from a military model to a democratic process?' Boomer asked.

"I believe it was when Greenbean suddenly required rescuing," Dietra replied, glancing at her chronometer. "About three centons ago, by my reckoning."

"_Get me down_!"

xxxxx

"Okay, just a little more. Just a little more."

"Hummer?"

"Just a . . ."

"Hummer?"

"Yes, Doctor Wilker?" said the young lab tech, not looking up from his screen, whereupon data seemed to be scrolling upwards at a fast rate.

"What are you doing?"

"Well . . . I'm working on this . . . uh, set here, Doctor." Something in Hummer's voice sounded evasive.

"Set. I see," said the older scientist, moving closer to Hummer's workstation. "Is this the environmental filter analysis from the Agro Ships, I hope?"

"Uh, well, no, Doctor."

"Perhaps the astrogation software peripherals reconfiguration for the _Constellation_?" Hummer looked indecisive and didn't reply. "The analysis of the IL Cylon Septimus' head?"

"Uh . . . well . . . not exactly." Hummer was beginning to squirm. Wilker reached around him and turned the monitor towards himself. He scowled, hands on hips.

"Bidding, Hummer? You're actually _bidding_ on the Base Ship?" The _Galactica'_s chief scientist shook his head. "Honestly, I thought better of you, Hummer. Such an . . . infantile pastime."

"No, Doctor. I haven't made a bid. I was just . . ."

"Lords of Kobol! You set up a hyperlink host page for the bidding!" Wilker looked closer, then down at the other. "What in heavens for?"

"Well, it makes the bidding tracking a lot easier, Doctor," said Hummer, quickly. "Speed is important in an auction, you know." He fell silent, as Wilker leaned in to study the screen closer.

"A daggit-eared deck of cards? A braid of . . . hair. A fumarello stub? A woman's stay?" He straightened up. "What sort of bids are those?"

"Well, I suspect the fumarello stub is Starbuck's, sir." He chuckled lightly. "Not too sure about the rest."

"Well, the deck of cards obviously belongs to some chancer," Wilker replied. "As for the braid . . ."

"Doesn't one of the bridge crew wear braids. Pretty lady?" Hummer asked.

"Yes, but she's not the only one with braids in the Fleet," Wilker replied, taking a seat beside the other. "Oh. It says it's a _coiled_ braid. That could be Rigel, alright." He leaned closer. "Oh, look! A gamma transmitter!" He snorted aloud.

"Sounds like . . ."

"Boomer!" Wilker quickly inserted.

"Exactly."

_Ping._

"What now?" asked Wilker, leaning forward eagerly as something new popped onto the screen.

"A new bid." Hummer touched a key. "Well, look at that!"

"A recruiting poster? Someone bid a recruiting poster? For a Cylon Base Ship? You're kidding me!"

"No," said the other, smiling at the image of a certain bridge officer with perfect hair, perfect posture, a perfect uniform and, of course, perfect teeth. He looked more like a bureautician running for office than a Colonial Warrior. "Hey, this one's sure getting a lot of attention.|

"I can't believe this!" said Wilker. "Talk about a time waster! Come on, Hummer. Let's get back to some actual work. Something productive! The commander is still waiting for those diagnostics and Septimus' head . . ."

"Alright, Doctor. I hear you. I'm . . ."

Hummer clicked off the monitor, not without a certain amount of regret, and moved to another bench. There, looking forlorn, sat the detached head of the "late" Commander Septimus, "assassinated" by the crew of Baltar's Base Ship at the beginning of the "détente" with the Colonials. From an open panel in the back, wires and optical fibres ran to a bank of equipment, indicative of Hummer's attempts to reactivate and reinitialize the computer brain of the IL Cylon, so far with limited success. The alien programming was proving a tough nut to crack. While the codes for all such things would of course be stored within the Base Ship's mainframe, Adama did not wish for the newly "friendly" Cylons to get wind of this project, uncertain of how they might react. So Hummer was using his not-inconsiderable skills to try and resurrect the IL without assistance from the rest.

_Beep_

"Ah!" Suddenly, the convoluted tangle of circuits that was the IL's brain began to flicker and then died. Then again, lights began to flash, and, for the briefest of moments, the eyes as well. Hummer continued to make adjustments, until the internal flow of power and the pulsing of light from the bodiless head was constant. Low, barely enough, but constant. "Now, you deposed dumpster, let's see if we can do anything with you."

_Click_

"_I . . . I . . . I . . . . . . orderrrrrr you to . . . stoppppp Centurion . . . . . ._"

"Not so good. Maybe . . . ah!"

"_IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII . . . I command . . . command . . . by your command . . . your . . . you . . . yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyou . . . who . . . _Who are you?" demanded the head, eyes fixed on Hummer. "Unhand me, Human! You are a prisoner of the . . . the . . ." The eyes slowed, scanning every bit of their arc, and then returned to focus on Hummer. "I don't feel very good."

In the next room, Wilker sat before his own terminal, nose to screen. He had an important decision to make. A very important one.

"One laseronic ergon scan." He looked at the icon and hit _bid_. "Right."

Outside, Hummer likewise was busy.

"Used Cylon robe, red with gold stripes. Sparkles. One careful owner."

_Click._

xxxxx_  
><em>

"_Whoa!_"

As he plummeted down the steep trail, it hit Starbuck hard that only a micron before he'd been about to compliment Apollo on his tactical genius, following the creek where it wound its way up the hillside, leaving little in the way of tracks to follow. But then Starbuck had suddenly crested the hilltop behind his friend, only to have Apollo cry out, unexpectedly flailing backwards into him, knocking him off balance and sending him head over heels back down the damp and slippery path.

Tactically, it sucked vapours.

"_Starbuck! Are you okay_?" The sound of mud-sucking footfalls racing down the hillside above him drew closer and closer.

Considering how best to answer the question, Starbuck set his air-rifle aside and undid the chinstrap securing his helmet. Informally, he registered a host of complaints from his traumatized body, concluding quickly that he was unharmed, at least according to the manual. No gaping wounds, no bodily fluids leaking from his person, no major body parts detached, his military-issued briefs still relatively dry and clean. Luckily, his final resting place had been a pile of leaves large enough to hide a landram in. He pulled off his helmet, patting down his camouflage jumpsuit until he palpated his beloved fumarello, just waiting there to offer him much-deserved comfort in his time of need.

"Starbuck! Answer me! Are you okay?" Apollo cried out again, stumbling to a halt and wading through the leaves until he was kneeling anxiously over his friend. He pulled his own helmet from his head, peering down at Starbuck through the starlit forest.

Starbuck scowled at him, pulling out his fumarello and wedging it between his teeth. He patted down his torso. "I need a light, Apollo, and in a bad way. Cover me."

Apollo sighed in relief, dropping onto his astrum beside his friend in the pile of organic mulch. He watched patiently as Starbuck found his ignitor, a gentle glow lighting his features as he puffed lovingly on his smoke. The strike captain began to chuckle a moment later, shaking his head.

"Something funny?"

"I guess I just wasn't picturing you taking the time to enjoy a smoke just now."

"Yeah?" Starbuck asked, pulling his fumarello from his lips for a moment. "Well, _I_ wasn't picturing you knocking me off the peak, buddy. What the frack was that? You looked like you were doing the Cylon Death Dance up there! Did you spot a full moon when you reached the top? Did it suddenly inspire you to throw up your arms in the air and start doing the Libran Bump?"

Apollo laughed aloud, apparently finding the image hysterically funny. He lay down on the soft bed of leaves, gazing upon the stars peeking through the canopy of the forest. Breathing in gulps of the crisp, clean air, he tried to control his mirth.

"So you're okay, huh?" Apollo mumbled between titters, grabbing a fistful of leaves and tossing them up in the air. "Not even a scratch?"

Starbuck grinned, plunking his smoke back where it belonged. "Fine. So what happened?"

"Then you concede the unlikelihood of me performing a ritualistic Moon Dance?" Apollo asked, stretching out his arms in the leaf pile, fanning them like he had as a child in the snow.

"Sadly, yes. Knowing you, more likely it was a demonic two-headed space anomaly sent to destroy the Fleet."

"Not this time. But _something_ surprised me," Apollo admitted.

"Not a moon . . ."

"_Not_ . . . a moon."

"What then?"

"I _thought_ it was an animal," Apollo mused, his tone thoughtful.

"Forest rat?"

Apollo rolled his eyes. "Bigger."

"Lop-Eared Lepus?"

"It was as big as me, Starbuck. Huge and hairy."

"Tempting, but I'll restrain myself from throwing the obvious beard joke your way."

"That's mighty big of you, buddy."

"I'd hate to get tedious. How about Jolly? Was it Jolly?"

"Jolly's huge and hairy?" Apollo asked, this time tossing two handfuls of leaves into the air.

"Ever seen him with his shirt off?" Starbuck asked, brushing a couple fallen leaves from his hair.

"Ah. Point taken, but no, it wasn't Jolly. Besides, when last we checked, he was _behind_ us."

"Then what was it? There aren't any large animals on the Agro Ship, are there?"

"There aren't _supposed_ to be . . ."

"So where does that leaf us, Apollo?"

Apollo hesitated, before turning to regard his friend in amusement. He grabbed a fistful of fallen foliage, tossing it directly at the lieutenant. Starbuck laughed, rolling to his side before adroitly regaining his feet. He scooped up a pile of mulch, throwing it back at Apollo. A moment later, leaf warfare ensued; the air filled with a cascade of dense foliage as the two men hurled handfuls of leaves at each other accompanied by the joyous sound of breathless laughter. Apollo leapt forward, tackling his friend around the waist, pulling him back into the pile of mulch, burying him.

Then an ear-piecing howl cut through the air.

Both warriors froze as the eerie lament echoed through the dome. Human? Animal? It obliterated the previous moment's joy, leaving an uneasy tension in its wake.

"Huge and hairy, huh?" Starbuck said in a muffled voice from beneath Apollo.

"Yep," Apollo replied, rolling off his friend and slowly climbing to his feet. He reached down a hand, pulling Starbuck up. Together they picked up their helmets, pulling them back on before looking up the hill from where it had seemed the sorrowful wail had originated.

"See anything?" Apollo asked, studying the still landscape.

"Nothing that howls," Starbuck replied. "I'll bet someone's messing with us."

Again the howl filled the air.

A long moment later, a conspicuous silence settled around them.

"I have an idea." Starbuck pointed to his immediate right. "Instead, let's go _that _way."

Apollo took a final look up the hill, unable to shake the sense that something was watching them, although he could make out nothing, even with the enhanced night vision. "Good plan, buddy. I like it."

"Oh, I'm full of good plans," Starbuck chattered, anxious to fill a sudden void. "Real command potential here, just ask me."

Apollo clapped Starbuck on the shoulder, heading off on their altered course, a tingling sensation tracking its icy cold way down his spine. They both knew they were only delaying the inevitable, but whoever or whatever was up there, they'd meet it on their own terms.

And it had better not be Boxey!


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A guy might as well be on point when he was assigned to a mostly female team with Apollo's wife, Boomer's pregnant wife, and Starbuck's lady. Three drop dead gorgeous women, oh yeah Fleet hotties, and not one of them was available. Giles sighed, listening to the women chattering over the frequency, wondering how Bojay was coping so well with their casual approach to this pseudo-mission. Then again, even Bojay had recently joined the Indentured Males Club, dating Gayla, a vivacious brunette from the Agro Ship. What was it that Starbuck had once claimed about sealing, more specifically about husband and wife starring inanely and vacuously into each other's eyes? Oh yeah, he remembered. _Total brain death in one centon_. Well, as far as Giles was concerned, a relationship was just the training ground for marriage. Poor old Bucko didn't realize that after all the sectars he and Cassie had been exclusive, that he was well on the way to shutting off that part of his brain that needed to drink copious amounts of grog, belch loudly and proudly, play cards and party until he dropped.

Actually, it was kind of sad. It was like watching one of the "greats" grow old. About the only one who didn't know it was time to put the infamous Starbuck—Lady Killer and Fly Boy Extraordinaire—out to pasture was Starbuck himself. Face it, the guy was riding on his well-established reputation at this point, and had been for some time. It had been ages since he'd done anything epic . . . well other than that incident in Shad Zil with the hovermobile. Hadn't he actually ended up getting himself locked in a storage compartment recently instead of showing up for his own pyramid game? Truly pathetic and downright unworthy. Yeah, the time had come for someone else, someone new, to rise from the ranks to replace the under-achieving warrior as the Fleet Ladies' Man.

Now _Giles_ was a good-looking guy. Popular. A good personality. He could see himself owning a cool night spot, ladies on each arm. And the ladies liked him . . . at least the ones that didn't make fun of him. The whole Starbuck persona was really just a state of mind, heavily relying on bravado, good-looks and his skill in the cockpit. Even in a steady relationship, somehow the lieutenant managed to maintain his Bad Boy image that the ladies seemed to eat up faster than those new coco-flavoured mushies.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to be the crucial element. After all, generally it was_ bad_ girls who were attracted to_ bad_ boys. And it was the bad girls that Giles was hoping to spend some quality time with. In fact, if he could switch frequencies and get a hold of Brie, he could probably find a quiet little romantic spot here in the Agro Dome where he could try out his new Bad Boy persona on her and put it to the test.

Giles set aside his air rifle and pulled off his helmet as another series of giggles from off-limit ladies smothered the frequency. There had to be _some_ way of manually changing channels on the helmet comm. He kneeled down, grumbling at the lack of light in this part of the dome.

Then the ground dropped out from beneath him.

xxxxx

"Giles? Come in, Giles!" Bojay said over his helmet comm. He glanced over at Sheba, shaking his head. She did likewise. "Nothing."

"Where could he be?" Sheba asked.

The Colonial Warrior had been on point, and in retrospect, it now seemed unusual that he hadn't doubled back for practice when they'd taken a few centons to riddle the bushes—and inadvertently Kudur-Mabug and Pili—with eco-beads, mainly for the sake of Cassiopeia.

"Taken prisoner?" Athena suggested, glancing down at the ground as she looked for signs of the missing warrior as they continued on their original route.

"Prisoner?" Sheba echoed. "But we would have heard something over his communicator, wouldn't we?"

"Knowing Giles, he was on the wrong frequency, seeing if he could pick up the latest on the bidding," Bojay suggested with a snort of amusement.

"Not a bad idea," Athena replied with a laugh, pulling off her helmet, shaking out her hair before reaching inside to the transceiver.

"So what do we do now?" Cassie asked.

"I tend to think that Giles will be more of a hindrance than anything as their prisoner," Bojay replied, glancing at Sheba. "Sheba?"

"I agree. One of Apollo and Starbuck's biggest advantages was their mobility as a two-man team. Hauling a resistant prisoner along with them will slow them down, not to mention impinge their ability as an effective fighting force _and_ completely erase any element of surprise. Frankly, I'm stunned they did it."

"What if they _didn't_?" Athena asked.

"You think Giles bailed on us?" Bojay asked, and then shook his head emphatically. "No way."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself, Bojay," Cassie remarked.

"Us guys have a little wager going on the outcome just to make it interesting," Bojay confessed. "There's no way Giles would have walked away from his cubits."

"I've got it," Athena said to them, nodding in satisfaction as she snapped the cover back in place inside the helmet. "It's pretty easy to change frequencies if you know what you're doing. I just don't know who I have, Boomer or Apollo."

"Good job, Athena," Sheba complimented her.

Athena smiled. "Good to be able to contribute something." She pulled her helmet back on, pausing a moment as she eavesdropped on the chit-chat. "Boomer? Is that you? Hey, we're down a man. We've lost Giles."

xxxxx

"C'mon, buddy. Get a move on!" Starbuck teased, standing akimbo, as he watched Apollo climb down the tree he had scaled. "We don't have all day, you know!"

"Ha! Says the guy who claims he gets altitude sickness if he isn't wearing his pressure suit and flight helmet over and above five metrons in the air!" Apollo replied, hanging briefly by a branch before dropping lightly to the ground.

"I tell ya, Apollo, it's not a pretty sight," Starbuck said, sighing dramatically over the helmet comm. "First I get light-headed, then I get a bit spacehappy . . ."

"A bit? That's rich! Starbuck, you're _always_ spacehappy. They came up with the condition with _you_ in mind."

"Besides," Starbuck continued as if Apollo hadn't spoken, "all this quasi-outdoors mountain-man stuff kind of goes with your new image."

"_What_ new image?" Apollo asked. "Are you talking about my beard _again_?"

"I didn't say a _word_ about your beard," he replied, "but since _you_ brought it up, hear me out, buddy. Obviously, you've left the role of decent looking, although socially challenged, eligible Fleet bachelor_ long_ behind . . ."

"_Socially challenged_?" Apollo sputtered, before replying lightly, "This from the guy whose idea of a serious commitment is an all-night round of pyramid! _Socially _. . ."

"Let's just say 'thank the Lords for assertive women' and leave it at that," Starbuck razzed him right back. "So now you start climbing trees, swinging from branches, having chance encounters with supposed big hairy animals . . . you have that whole outdoorsy tough guy image coming along nicely. So . . . now to contrast your superhuman qualities,_ I_ have to perfect my role as your better-looking, but less enthusiastic sidekick. Otherwise, it's just going to get boring. We can't _both_ be perfect, and face it, _ I've_ been carrying the load long enough." He paused long enough for Apollo to laugh out loud. "Obviously, I'll have to tone myself down," he rambled. "It'll be tough, but I'm willing to make sacrifices . . ."

"Starbuck," Apollo asked, "what exactly were you smoking when I was up the tree?"

"Nothing. I did find these interesting little fungi though . . ."

"And we all know you consider yourself a _fun guy_ . . ."

"Sagan, that's bad!" Starbuck cried painfully at the pun. "You said it, I didn't. So, getting back to the _mission_, what did you see up there?" he asked, pointing skyward.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten _why_ I went up. It_ looked_ like Greenbean hanging upside from a tree," Apollo replied. "I optimized the magnification."

Starbuck laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. This from the guy seeing large, hairy beasts in the Agro Dome. I'm not falling for that."

"I'm serious," Apollo replied. "The others were standing around trying to figure out a way to get him down, by the looks of it. Jolly, Boomer and two of the women. Hard to tell with the helmets on."

"Uh . . .sounds suspicious."

"It could be a trap," Apollo agreed. "Then again, do you really think that Boomer or Jolly would dangle Greenbean out of a tree as bait?"

"No," replied the lieutenant, pausing a moment before he snickered. "But _Dietra_ might. Are we checking it out?"

"You know it, buddy. We're here for action, and so far we haven't seen much of it."

"Other than the big, hairy . . ."

"I really saw it. _Really_."

"Yeah, right."

"I did."

"Uh huh," Starbuck replied seemingly unconvinced despite the evidence of the eerie howl that had recently reverberated through their souls. "Just tell me that you have a plan."

"Why do _I_ have to come up with the plan?" Apollo asked.

"Because you're the captain, Captain. _And_ because you love this."

Apollo grinned. The truth was that Starbuck was right. "Alright, listen up . . ."

xxxxx

"So . . . what would you do if you actually _won_ the Base Ship?" Zed asked over her shoulder.

"Easy. A documentary on Cylon Base Stars . . . followed by the first Cylon Sitcom on Inter Fleet Broadcasting," Zara grinned, checking out the latest bid on the hyperlink host page as she sat in front of her computron on the Comp-Tel Ship.

"Cylon sitcom, huh? Do you really think the Fleet is ready for that?"

"Isn't broadcasting all about testing limits of the imagination? Imagine three Cylon Centurions entering the Academy Equivalency Program offered on the _Galactica_. Add a handsome warrior or two . . ."

"The Council would go ballistic!"

"The Council? Ballistic? How would we tell?"

"Point taken. What would you call your sitcom?"

"Uh . . . _All My Centurions_?"

"How about _As the Base Ship Turns_?" Zed suggested_. _

"Hey, not bad! Sounds like a top-rated show to me!" She smiled mischievously, her fingers flying over the keys. "In fact . . ."

"What are you doing, Zara?"

"Bidding."

xxxxx

Giles banged on the wall once again, cursing the darkness, not to mention whichever Lord of Kobol was in charge of irony. Yes, it had only been a few centons ago that he'd privately been criticizing Starbuck for getting trapped in a storage compartment somewhat recently, and here Giles was in the _exact_ same situation. Obviously, someone had been listening! As he once again patted down the perimeter of the room looking for a way out, the toe of his boot nudged his helmet. In a fit of pique, he kicked it across the tiny compartment, releasing another stream of curses that would make an Orion Hasher's toes curl when it ricocheted back at him.

Unbelievably, he'd fallen through some kind of trap door, and had landed on that damn helmet. The impact had shorted out both his communicator and night vision gear. Essentially, he was blind with no way to get out of . . . wherever he was. Kind of eerily, the trap doors had swung back into the closed position, sealing him in this crypt with only a pile of fallen dirt and leaves as company. As far as he could surmise, there were no supplies or even water. His stomach grumbled and he licked his suddenly dry lips wondering how in the twelve worlds Apollo and Starbuck had managed to rig this when they'd only been playing the game for less than a centar! Eldritch _had_ to be in on it!

"Come on guys! Let me out!" he yelled in the darkness, pounding on the wall with the flat of his fist. "This isn't funny!"

xxxxx

"My mother and your mother were hanging out clothes. My mother socked your mother right in the nose. What colour was the blood?" Boomer pointed at Dietra.

"Auric."

"A-U-R-I-C spells Auric and you are not it," Boomer concluded, his finger once again pointing at Dietra.

She whooped with joy, stepping out of the circle.

"Hey! That's not fair!" Jolly protested. "Dee, you rigged that!"

"Oh, sure. Takes a girl twenty-eight yahrens to put together that you can get yourself out of anything in 'My Mother and Your Mother' with some simple arithmetic, and _you_ hold it against me, Jolly." She shook her head in mock despair.

"_Get me down_!" Greenbean wailed from behind them, still hanging upside down. "_This is taking too long_!" He pulled his helmet off and threw it down at them.

"Besides," Brie added over the warrior's plaintive cries, "you guys must have been inhaling plant vapours if you seriously think that either Dietra or I could actually release that rope without dropping Greenbean on his head. We could never support his weight."

"_An excellent point_!" Greenbean called out. "_Excellent_!"

"Have I mentioned that I'm not exactly a nimble little minx?" Jolly said, once again looking up the length of the tall tree that Greenbean was suspended from by the ankle.

"Sounds like you're climbing the tree by default, Boomer," Brie said, shrugging. "Face it; this was your calling all along. You're just delaying the inevitable."

"I say we flip a cubit, Jolly," Boomer returned. "Best of three?"

"Alright, Lieutenant _Denial_." Jolly chuckled, reaching into his pocket. "If I didn't know better, I'd guess you have fear of heights."

"More like a 'fear of _falling_ from heights," Boomer replied, looking up the thick trunk. "Did anybody bring a Viper?"

"I checked mine at the door," Brie replied, patting down her jumpsuit. "Wouldn't fit."

"Maybe Brie and I should do a perimeter check," Dietra suggested. "After all, if Starbuck and Apollo have already picked off Giles, they _could_ be . . ."

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than the group were peppered with eco-beads as a helmeted warrior burst onto the scene, letting out a war cry. Brie shrieked, diving for cover, while Boomer and Jolly whirled around, returning fire as the agile figure serpentined through the scene, crouching low to the ground while using all available foliage for cover. Dietra deked behind the mighty tree before shooting off a steady stream of beads as he fled the scene.

"_Get me down_!" Greenbean yelled, reaching upward and trying to pull himself upright.

"Let's get him!" Boomer yelled, darting forward in pursuit, the others on his heels as the figure disappeared into the foliage.

xxxxx

"Interesting."

"What is, Tigh?"

Back on the Bridge, the colonel startled, unaware that Adama was so nearby. "Well . . . to be honest . . . well . . ."

"Checking the latest bid on the Base Ship, Tigh?" Adama asked with a hint of a smile, leaning over the colonel's shoulder and catching him in the act.

"Sorry, Adama."

Adama straightened, letting out a sigh. "I suppose . . . to be fair . . . it is rather amusing." He looked over his Bridge. "Isn't it?"

A shadow of a smile lit Tigh's features for the briefest of microns as he studied the Battlestar commander uncertainly. "I'm afraid it is. I'm . . . I admit it. I'm as hooked as the rest of the crew."

"The rest of the _Fleet_, actually," Adama said, before turning back to his executive officer and adding reluctantly, "And just what _is_ this latest bid?"

"Well, it was a screenplay for a new Cylon sitcom. But a new one just came up. A man's green velvet suit, used. Including gloves. One careful owner."

Adama raised his eyebrows, fingering his Seal of Kobol at his neckline for a moment. A symbol of his venerable position on the original Quorum of Twelve, he believed it to be the last remaining from the Colonies. Unless . . .

"Adama, you wouldn't!" Tigh exclaimed.

"To beat Baltar," Adama replied with a glimmer in his eyes, "I just might."

xxxxx

"I hear shots!" Sheba cried, whirling around suddenly.

"Boomer's team is under attack! One warrior, not sure if it's Starbuck or Apollo," Athena reported beside her, still listening in on the other frequency. "Jolly figures it's probably Apollo. Starbuck would have stopped for a smoke by now."

Sheba giggled before relaying the information to their other teammates.

"No sign of any of the others so far or Giles. But they're in pursuit," Athena said.

"Sounds like a trap," Bojay said from his position.

"But we're ready for them," Sheba replied, crouched beside Athena in the high ferns, her weapon trained on the natural path she was sure that one over-confident Colonial Warrior was about to come racing down. "Ready, Cassie?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Cassie said beside Bojay, tensing. "I'm just not sure I can hit the target."

"I had an old drill sergeant who once said, 'to be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target'," Bojay told her, his tone light. "Just have fun, Cassiopeia."

"Thanks, Bojay," Cassie replied, touching his arm lightly before setting her sights on the trail, air rifle in hand. "I think I hear him coming . . ."

xxxxx

It had _seemed_ like a great plan when Apollo had concocted this strategy, but as he veered sharply to the right, and took the difficult path straight up the side of the rock face with four armed and firing predators on his tail, he began to have his doubts.

"Starbuck! Where are you?" Apollo panted, his foot slipping on the slimy rock, as he banged his knee on the unforgiving surface. Then he rebounded, slinging his air rifle over his shoulder and clutching for any available handgrips to propel himself upwards to higher ground. His heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst out of his chest with his next exertion. With the padding on the jumpsuits it was difficult to immediately sense if he'd been shot, but a quick glance at the indicator on his heads-up display showed he'd been hit . . .

In the astrum.

The answer to his desperate plea was a glorious stream of covering fire from above as Starbuck suddenly peppered Apollo's pursuers with a barrage of eco-beads. Shouts of surprise and laughter rang out from below, pumping the captain up with adrenaline as the previous onslaught of ammunition bouncing around him abruptly ceased.

"_Yeehaw_!" Starbuck yowled from his position of tactical advantage. "The other team is moving in to join this one, Apollo. Get a move on!"

"Easy for _you_ to say! You weren't the one shot in the astrum!" Apollo replied wryly, his boot slipping once again as he slid back almost a full metron, coming to a jarring stop on a jagged rock edge. He forced himself upward once again, vowing to himself that Starbuck would be the next one to climb _anything_. "I'm climbing as fast as I can!"

"You call _that_ climbing?" Starbuck ribbed him good-naturedly. "Hey, back at the Academy . . ."

An eco-bead bounced off the rock above Apollo's head. "You call _that_ covering fire?"

"Apollo! The other team is moving around the base of the hill. They're trying to surround us!" Starbuck reported from his vantage point.

"Are_ they _ever going to be surprised!" Apollo replied enthusiastically hearing Starbuck's answering laughter on the line.

xxxxx

"Bojay! Report!" Boomer said crisply, checking his heads-up display and wincing as it registered two separate hits from the warrior at the crest of the hill. He was reasonably sure he'd hit the other warrior, and his competitive instinct was almost assuaged by that fact. He squatted down, his finger easing off the trigger of his air rifle. The vegetation was too dense for eco-beads to penetrate anything up there now.

"We're on the northwest side of the hill, fanning out west and east. We're all fine. Any losses on your side?" Bojay asked over the helmet comm.

"Team One, sound off!" Boomer ordered his group.

"_Team One_?" Dietra replied. "How . . . plebeian. Couldn't you come up with something more original?"

Boomer sniffed in amusement. Leave it to Dee to remind them they were playing a game. "What would you suggest?"

"The Boom Booms?" Dietra replied, setting the tone once again as uproarious laughter filled the line. "All in favour of the Boom Booms, say 'aye'!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"That's about four more votes than I was counting on. I _will_ get you for this, Dietra," Boomer assured her ruefully. "Okay, _Boom Booms_, sound off!"

"Dietra, still alive!"

"Brie, still alive!

"Jolly, I'm out."

"_What_?" Boomer asked, watching the other warrior rise dejectedly from the large ferns about ten metrons away.

"I got hit repeatedly in the chest when the covering fire rained down on us," Jolly explained, shrugging his shoulders and pulling off his helmet. "I'm out. But . . . on the upside, I hear there are fresh mushies in the commissary."

"Hey, _we_ need a team name!" Athena inserted.

"Definitely!" Cassie agreed. "But what?"

"What about the Formidable League of Super Warriors?" Bojay asked wryly, forestalling any possible mutation of his name.

"Has a nice ring to it, but it's a bit verbose in the field, don't you think?" Sheba replied with a titter.

"Personally, I think it has real potential, Sheba. Let's give it some thought while we plan how to take the hill," Bojay pressed.

"Full out assault, shoot anything that moves! How else?" Sheba replied. "Boomer?"

"Sounds good! People, it's payback time! Let's win this one for Jolly!"

"Hey, I hate to break the momentum, but what about Greenbean?" Brie asked.

"Oh . . . right," Boomer replied. "We should really do something about getting him down."

"Right after we take the hill," Sheba said.

"Agreed. _Charge_!" Bojay ordered.

"Shouldn't we discuss tactics and strategy?" Cassie asked, getting into the spirit of the game.

"Or we could just go and annihilate them," Athena suggested enthusiastically. "That would be more fun!"

"_CHARGE!_"

xxxxx

"Shot in the astrum, huh?" Starbuck repeated with a short laugh, securing the harness on the winded Apollo as though he was dressing a seven-yahren old boy. Methodically but efficiently, he checked the safety equipment, almost looking as though he knew what he was doing. "Well, better you than me."

"Yeah," Apollo panted, relieved his friend was already in his harness, his gear at the ready by his feet, although his helmet was off. "I thought you might see it that way."

"At least I don't need to field dress it," Starbuck replied in amusement.

"Believe me, buddy, no one's happier about that than me!" Apollo retorted as he watched the lieutenant secure the lanyard first to his harness and then to the gear above them. "In fact, I'm over the moon . . ."

Starbuck snickered at the reference.

"What about you? Any registered hits?" Apollo asked.

"Life force one hundred per cent," Starbuck replied, glancing over his shoulder and cocking his head to the side. "I hear them coming."

"Frack. Are you almost done?"

"Almost," Starbuck replied, pausing a micron to consider a piece of equipment before snapping it in place.

"Are you, uh . . . sure you know what you're doing?" Apollo asked, somewhere between razzing and real concern.

Starbuck's nimble fingers stopped for a moment and he paused, looking at his friend for a micron. "Don't you trust me?"

"Well, it's not that I don't trust you, necessarily, it's just that I have this distinct memory of you _missing_ the whole mountaineering portion of the field training at the Academy. Let me see . . . there was something about you doing disciplinary duty for kissing a certain officer's daughter . . ."

Starbuck smiled fondly at the memory. "I was assigned to the Honour Guard for the big shindig going on at the Academy while you were on a secton-long trek through the Nevis Range. I ended up dancing with bureauticians and officers' daughters while you were hanging from icy precipices and traversing gorges." He shook his head, laughing slightly. "Not a bad punishment, really."

"Yeah, but then you kissed a bureautician's daughter . . . the 'all I did was kiss her' incident, as it was later recorded in the annals of Academy Mayhem and Philandering. You remember. The one whose mother was on the Council and was betrothed to Sire . . ."

"All I did was _kiss_ her . . ." Starbuck proclaimed, yet again.

"Uh huh. And in return you had to retake 'Officer Decorum' on top of your regular workload and teach a two centar seminar on it to your fellow impressionable cadets."

"And who better to teach them? I aced Officer Decorum, _both_ times . . ."

"And somehow didn't manage to absorb a thing!" Apollo laughed. "Ah, the good old days!"

"Yeah." Starbuck chuckled before shrugging and adding, "But that was then, this is now."

"And now?"

"A couple sectons ago a few of us brought a group of kids over here to test drive the new Tyrolean Traverse." Starbuck glanced downward, his gaze following the cable that descended from the hilltop to three quarters of the way across the Agro Dome back near the lake. "After launching fifty kids down this line, I'd say I'm as well versed in the gear as just about anyone."

"What group of kids?" Apollo asked curiously, as he stood ready on the edge of a craggy rock, the official departure point. This was going to be a rush!

"Some of the orphans. Pelias fixed it so they built in a schedule to accommodate some of the underprivileged civilians that would probably never get a chance to enjoy the recreational facilities at the Agro Dome otherwise."

"One of your ideas?"

Starbuck shrugged, doing a final check on the equipment and nodding to himself. "It was a natural fit. They bring the kids here from time to time for education, after all. I figured, why not combine that with some recreation? No additional expenses due to fuel, after all."

Beneath his helmet, Apollo smiled warmly. "You know, buddy, you keep this up and I'll have to commend you for a . . ." The bushes behind them rustled with movement.

"And launch!" Starbuck yelled, giving his friend a mighty shove that sent Apollo plummeting downward through the forest canopy.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"_Yee-haw!_" Apollo hollered in complete and unadulterated joy.

As far as he was concerned there weren't a lot of instances deserving of an officially sanctioned "Yeehaw", but zipping from the highest hilltop of the Agro Dome and plunging downward on a cable secured only by a harness, yeah, this was definitely one of them. It was as close as he could get to flying without a fighter, and as adrenaline rushes went, this wasn't bad at all; especially considering they were escaping an inevitable defeat on a hilltop that simply offered way too much cover to potential assailants coming at them on several fronts. It was as close as he could get to flying without a fighter, and as adrenaline rushes went, this wasn't bad at all; especially considering they were escaping an inevitable defeat on a hilltop that simply offered way too much cover to potential assailants coming at them on several fronts.

Apollo craned his neck around, disappointed he couldn't see directly behind him, but sure it would just be a matter of microns before Starbuck pulled on his own helmet and followed. Then a brief glance below revealed a glimpse of the same large hairy being starring up at him that he'd seen on an adjacent hilltop only thirty centons before. He craned his neck around for a second look, wishing he could record the image and enhance the magnification; after all, he was certain whatever-it-was was carrying an air rifle.

"What the frack . . ." Apollo murmured, hoping that Starbuck would espy the creature on his pass over the area. After all, so far it was only a rumour, unsubstantiated by Starbuck's own two eyes and, therefore, non-existent in this or any other universe. "Starbuck! Are you on your way?"

Unsettlingly, there was no reply. Apollo grimaced, wondering if instead of getting away, his friend was now a prisoner, or even worse, out of the game. They had been sloppy, chatting about old times and letting time run away as an advance scout scaled the hillside a little quicker than either of them were counting on.

Still, overall the plan had come off well. An unexpected frontal attack had taken Boomer and the others completely by surprise, even as it lured them to Starbuck's position. The only weak part of the plan would have ended up with them stranded on high ground, usually a tactical position of advantage, except in this case where it was too sheltered by obscuring foliage. Then Starbuck had offered up his suggestion of the Tyrolean Traverse, unbeknownst to Apollo built there over a sectar ago for recreational purposes. Not only did Starbuck know where the equipment was stored, but also how it was rigged.

"Starbuck? Come in, Starbuck!" Apollo tried again, feeling just a little guilty that he had gone first, leaving his best buddy to God only knows what back on the hill.

xxxxx

Watching Apollo's form fade in the distance as he zipped down the Tyrolean Traverse, Starbuck deftly attached his lanyard to the gear above him. He leaned down to pick up his helmet . . . his reach falling short by a half a metron with the limitations of his harness. Mentally, he berated himself, quickly undoing the carabineer and grabbing up his helmet as someone burst onto the scene.

"Hold it!" she ordered, her slender curvaceous frame pointing the air rifle at him a little uncertainly. Her voice, her tentativeness and her unmistakeable figure gave her away, despite the full face helmet.

"Hold _what_, exactly?" Starbuck asked casually. How Cassiopeia could possibly be the first on the scene had to be a real fluke of nature . . . or an opportunity. The Goddess of Luck was smiling upon him.

"Your hands, up!" Cassiopeia replied, lowering the weapon slightly when it occurred to her he wasn't fully protected. "You're supposed to be wearing your helmet, Starbuck! You're breaking the rules of engagement!"

"You have an interesting idea of _engagement_, Sweet Lady, but I'm willing to hear you out, especially if it requires safety equipment," he replied devilishly, offering her his best grin.

Cassiopeia lowered her weapon a bit more, laughing out loud at her man. "I _meant_ that I'm not allowed to shoot you if you're not wearing your helmet."

"But I don't _want_ you to shoot me, Cass," he replied, crooking a finger in her direction. "Come here," he whispered throatily.

"Why?" she asked in exaggerated innocence.

"I, uh . . . want to initiate peace talks," he adlibbed.

"I hope you're not planning on spending _too_ much time talking," she replied saucily.

"Often between opposing camps, actions historically speak louder than words."

"I've heard that too."

Lowering her air rifle to her side, she stepped towards him, her hips swaying sensually as she pulled off her own helmet, shaking out her blonde tresses. "Now you can't shoot me either," she purred with an enchanting smile.

"Not exactly what I had in mind, Beautiful," Starbuck replied, enjoying the vista on this hilltop more than he could ever remember.

She stepped into his embrace, their lips meeting in a stolen moment of passion as he pulled her against him in the darkness. Ah, frontal assaults had really come a long way since the Academy days, he reckoned.

"_Oh frack! _What's this? _Aarrgghh!_ _First _I catchBoomer and Athena taking a rest on the way up and now _this_! And_ I_ can't even shoot Starbuck because he's not wearing his helmet!" Bojay whined loudly from behind them as he foraged through some brambles in their direction. "Cassiopeia! What do you think you're doing?"

"Engaging the enemy, just like you said, Bojay," she replied mischievously.

Bojay groaned aloud in disgust. "Starbuck!"

"I'm, uh . . . negotiating for peace," Starbuck replied. "You couldn't have sent a better envoy, Bojay!"

"_What?_ I heard that!" Sheba exclaimed, bursting onto the scene through some bushes, her air rifle at ready. "Negotiate for peace! You can't do that! We're at war!"

Cassie pulled back slightly from Starbuck, merriment dancing in her shining blue eyes as she glanced at Sheba. "Aren't you tired of war, Sheba?"

"No! Not at all!" Sheba insisted with a muffled giggle. "It's only been two centars, after all!"

Starbuck laughed at her enthusiasm, putting Cassie's helmet back on her head, and then adroitly attaching the clip above him. He clipped his helmet to his belt before announcing, "The fairest lady in all of the land; I can't resist."

Cassiopeia's eyes opened wide and she drew in a deep breath as he pulled her tightly against him. "Star-buck . . . you _aren't_ . . ."

"Oh, but I am. Hold on tight." Starbuck grinned roguishly, pushing off the precipice with Cassiopeia in his firm embrace as they zipped down the line.

"_Starrrrrr-buckkkkk!_" Cassie screamed, the pitch somewhere between disbelief and pure delight.

xxxxx

There came a time in every Colonial Warrior's life when it occurred to him or her that their good-for-nothing friends weren't going to be there for them. Granted, usually this happened when one was hitting them up for a few extra cubits or trading off a long-range patrol. For Greenbean it had instead come while hanging upside down from a tree during the most ridiculous "training mission" he had ever been on.

_One, two, three_ . . .

He swung sharply upwards, the sudden pain in his belly probably indicating he'd just herniated some vital organ, not that anybody would care. Grunting aloud, he soldiered on, managing to grab his snared boot. This was the tough part. He gritted his teeth and he forced himself to climb upwards, feeling like a contortionist in a freak show, knowing that if he failed, he would be swinging helplessly for another two centars while his so-called _friends_ ran around having all the fun.

"Viper . . . pilots . . . shouldn't . . . have . . . to . . . work . . . so . . . hard!" Greenbean spat out between panting breaths as he started climbing the rope to the thick branch above, thankful for the gloves he was wearing. It was dark, and he briefly regretted trying to bean Boomer in the head with his night vision helmet when it had become apparent he was more a topic of amusement than the subject of an inevitable rescue effort.

This was real physical exertion, the kind that only cadets and Special Forces types should have to endure. Not only _that_, but it was dangerous! If he fell from this height . . . well, he'd be hanging upside down by his ankle once again, that's what he'd be! His muscles quivering with exertion, he pulled himself clumsily onto the branch, almost as wide as a man, clinging to it briefly while he rested.

"First I'm going to track down Boomer and Jolly . . . then Starbuck and Apollo . . ." he muttered, planning his revenge. He loosened the noose around his ankle, freeing himself. "I'll make them wish they'd never darkened my day . . . I'll show them!"

An image came to mind of him peppering the other men with eco-beads and he indulgently allowed himself an unrestrained maniacal laugh, in keeping with his new role as self-appointed Vindicator. The sound seemed to echo off the foliage and he liked it so much he cackled again in evil glee. "_I am the Vindicator!_ _Bwahahahahahahahaha_!"

Now the Vindicator had to get his recumbent astrum down the tree!

Greenbean shimmied along the branch, taking his time before he came to the twisty trunk. It was there he discovered the footholds that had been nailed to the titanic tree. Apparently, the Lord really _did_ help those that helped themselves. All the same, it was too bad he hadn't installed a turbo lift instead. "Not that it isn't appreciated, You understand!" he clarified, looking towards the heavens.

His descent to the ground was a blessed relief, and he was tempted to drop down and kiss the dirt as he looked around for his missing helmet and air rifle. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the nearby bushes. He ducked down, realizing that he was vulnerable without his Eco-weapon. He hadn't heard any recent shots, so it was difficult to tell exactly what was going on in the game. If only he had his dang helmet!

Once again, he heard rustling in the brush, but now it was moving away. Well, it had to be either Starbuck, Apollo one of the Vindicator's former compatriots. If he could sneak up on them, he could probably find himself in possession of a shiny new numo, his own still evading him just now.

Quietly, he began pursuing the shadowy figure as it led him through the forest. He felt cunning, stealthy and powerful. There was something so satisfying about outsmarting your enemy. Maybe it was the fact that he was using his intelligence, instincts and own two hands, instead of a powerful fighter craft. In fact, for a brief micron he wished his old drill sergeant could see him track down his prey.

_About time you did something right, you green lanky bean!_

"Oh, shut up!" Greenbean muttered to his intrusive past, pausing when he spotted an abandoned air rifle. Now who would be dumb enough to leave their rifle just lying there?

Well, their misfortune would be his good luck.

He stayed low, skulking his way towards the weapon. Oddly, the ground looked a little barren there, in comparison to the thick mulch around it. He leaned down, picking up the rifle, his free hand touching the compact dirt. It was almost as if . . .

Abruptly, the ground collapsed beneath him.

xxxxx

She'd been feeling strong, heart surging, legs pumping, taking the hill as well as any seasoned field warrior when all of a sudden something had barrelled into her astrum, knocking her off her feet and throwing her forward, head over heels.

"_Dietra_!"

A moment later, Brie was leaning over her, rolling her over, pulling the helmet off, and starring down at her through that dark opaque faceplate.

"You okay?"

"I've . . . been better!"

"Come on!"

"I think I broke something," Dietra groaned, her backside stinging like the time her mother had caught her sneaking back into her room at daybreak, reeking of cheap perfume and stale nectar.

"What?" Brie asked in alarm. "What's broken?"

"My pride, mostly," Dietra clarified dejectedly, her hands gingerly assessing her posterior, finding nothing there but flesh that was so battered she could feel the searing heat through her pants. "What in the Twelve Worlds _was_ that?"

"_Dee? Brie? What's going on? Report!_" Boomer demanded over the channel.

"I think she's okay, Boomer!" Brie reported, examining the branch that had assaulted her friend. "It was some kind of spring trap using . . . saplings and cord . . ." She paused to squat down and examine the work. "I can't believe Apollo or Starbuck would do this. Someone could have really been hurt. Stupid idiots! After all, stringing up Greenbean is one thing, but this is just . . ."

"Easy, Brie. I'm fine," Dietra reassured her. "Really. Don't get your eco-beads in a twist."

"_A sapling spring trap?"_ Boomer remarked_. "This makes about as much sense as . . ."_

"Bidding on a Base Ship?" Brie asked, smiling.

"_Well, now that you mention it . . . yeah. Hold your position. We'll be right there."_

xxxxx

"Greenbean?" Jolly called, looking up the massive tree, expecting to see his friend there.

He didn't. It was encouraging, at the same time as it was a little disturbing. Either Greenbean was a lot more agile than anyone gave him credit for, or somebody else had helped him down. The way Jolly figured it, either way that left one very disgruntled Colonial Warrior running around with a loaded air rifle.

Now that he was out of the game, would Greenbean still fire on him?

Jolly chuckled. After all, _he_ would if he was Greenbean.

xxxxx

"You darn daggit!" Boxey cursed Muffit as he picked up the broken holoptic of his parents' sealing day. While Boxey had been using his father's personal computron to check out the latest bid on the Base Ship, somehow the daggit had knocked over the prized possession from the desk. How he was even going to explain being there when he was supposed to be at Dillon's . . .

"Don't worry about it, Boxey. We'll just tell them we came back here to get your homework. That _always_ works," Dillon counselled him.

"You think?"

"I don't _think_, I _know_."

"I don't think you know either," returned Boxey with a giggle, turning to the terminal briefly before his friend elbowed him off the chair. He slid to the floor, Dillon on top of him, the two roughhousing for a few centons before plunking themselves back in front of the screen as though nothing had happened.

"What's the latest bid? Did you get in?" Dillon asked.

"Of course I got in," Boxey replied as the bids rolled up on screen. He'd seen his father enter the pass code time and time again. He knew it as well as his own name. "The latest bid is a lesson in turning your eyelids inside out!"

"Colm!" Dillon exclaimed. "He did it! He said he'd get passed his mom, and he did! We have to outdo him, Boxey! We have to!"

Boxey nodded, thinking it over. Tentatively, his fingers touched the keys, almost expecting his parents to burst in and catch him in the act . . . or for tiny shackles to pop out of the computron and capture each traitorous digit as he typed . . . or his grandfather to suddenly appear on screen . . .

As usual, none of those things happened.

Boxey typed in his bid, grinning as Dillon roared in approval and Muffit seemed to whine in the corner.

"Ultimate! All the kids will know it's you, Boxey!"

Boxey entered his bid, regret hitting him as soon as his finger depressed the key.

"Just as long as all the _adults_ don't know it's me." He shut the computron down, then jumped up. "Dillon?"

"Yeah?"

"Got any glue?"

xxxxx

"I'm going after them!" Sheba suddenly announced, after watching Starbuck and Cassie zip down the line. "Oh yeah!"

"Are you crazy?" Bojay asked. "That's tactical suicide, Sheba! Apollo and Starbuck are at the end of that line!"

"It just so happens that we're _after_ Apollo and Starbuck," Sheba said, spotting the equipment cupboard where the Tyrolean descent equipment was stored. She opened it up, pulling out the gear and hastily began putting it on. "Besides . . . Cassie can handle Starbuck . . . and that looked like _fun_!"

Bojay chuckled. "Well, I'll give you that!"

"You know, Bojay, there was a time you'd follow me anywhere, no matter the risk," Sheba taunted him. She held out a harness to him.

Bojay smiled at her tone, as he recalled how he'd been awed by her ability when he'd first met her as a new transfer to the _Pegasus_. In time, as they'd worked together, that association had made him fall in love with her, but it was something he'd never revealed to her during their time on the _Pegasus_, given who Sheba's father was, and given that Sheba only had a reciprocal interest in terms of brother-sister affection. Bojay's reluctance to take the initiative had carried over into their early period aboard the _Galactica_, and he'd ultimately paid the price for that, as Sheba had by then fallen in love with Apollo and settled herself down the path that had led to their sealing. He had tried to not let that bother him, but it had still eaten at him inside for a long time until just prior to Apollo and Sheba's sealing, when he'd finally been able to put aside resentment and regret over the lost opportunity. And now, he was completely past all that. His budding relationship with the unpredictable and vivacious Gayla had helped him move on from what could never be. There was still a lot of living to do, and many more women out there that he could do it with. In the meantime, and maybe for old time's sake, he could go along with his old wingmate's wishes just one more time. After all, it just looked like one Hades of a good ride!

"Last one on the line is a rotten ovum!" Bojay suddenly announced, snatching the harness from her, before agilely tripping her. He grabbed a fistful of her jumpsuit, cushioning her fall to the ground on the way down.

"Boray!" she exclaimed, the amusement in her tone evident as she lay in a tangle of equipment.

"Bojay the Boray! That's me!"

xxxxx

"That was amazing!" Cassie exclaimed, laughing with delight as her feet connected with solid ground at the end of the Tyrolean Traverse. If it hadn't been for the fact that her man was hooked up to a harness, they probably would have ended up in a pile of entangled limbs . . . not that it would have been the first time.

"I knew you'd love it," Starbuck said, releasing her as he disconnected himself from the line above. "You should try it once on your own, Cass; it's just like flying!"

"Taking prisoners, Starbuck?" Apollo said in amusement from a few metrons away.

The captain was sitting on a rock, waiting for him. In the muted light, Starbuck had missed him, and the voice from seemingly nowhere had startled him.

"It was necessary," Starbuck offered, recovering quickly. "After all, you were shot in the astrum, Apollo. I brought you medical assistance."

"Resourceful of you, Lieutenant," Apollo replied with a light laugh. "Must be why I keep you around."

"I thought it was my endearing personality," Starbuck replied wryly.

"Shot in the astrum?" Cassiopeia laughed, before adding teasingly, "Did you need me to look at that, Apollo?"

"Figures. Here I spend just a few centars with _Starbuck_ and I end up with my astrum in a sling," Apollo lamented comically, contagious laughter ringing in his ears. "Which reminds me, on my way down I spotted our hairy friend from the hilltop again. It looked like he was carrying one of the air rifles."

"The hallucinations are getting worse, Cass," Starbuck whispered aside, his voice easily carrying to his friend. "Can you help him?"

"Hairy friend?" she asked.

"Apollo claims that a hairy giant is stomping around the woods. Apparently, now he's armed."

"You heard the howl just like I did, Starbuck."

"Hmm, maybe it was your sister. I've heard some of Boomer's stories about the rigours of pregnancy . . . on the _husband_, that is."

"Oh hoh!" Cassie thwacked him in the arm. "Athena would make you pay for that if she could hear you now."

"Don't tell her, huh? I'm actually a little afraid of her," Starbuck returned wryly.

"And so you should be. Earlier, she told Sheba and I about your _weakness_."

"He only has _one_?" Apollo inserted, deadpan. "News to me."

"What weakness?" Starbuck asked, his face suddenly contorting into a wince. "Oh, Lords . . . not that . . ." He groaned aloud, turning away from them. "She _didn't_!"

Cassie laughed. "Oh, but she did! Better keep your guard up, Fly Boy. Word's spreading like the Aquarian Flu!"

"What _weakness_ are we talking about?" Apollo asked, his curiosity peaked.

"Well . . ."

"_Wait a centon_!" Starbuck whirled on them. "I think I see a hairy giant with an air rifle heading this way!"

"Yeah, interesting timing on that, Bucko," Apollo mocked him, laughing.

Starbuck peered into the darkness quietly a moment, before picking up his helmet and putting it on. He enhanced the magnification on the night vision. "Or . . . it could be a warrior on the Tyrolean Line, buddy. Get ready for a fight."

xxxxx

__"Fraaaaaccckkk!"  
><em>_

_THUD!_

Landing flat on his back on a hard surface, Greenbean had the breath knocked out of him and possibly half the way back to the Twelve Colonies. As he lay there gasping for vital air, the trap door that he'd fallen through swung back into place, obliterating any starlight and leaving him in the pitch dark. Alone.

This just wasn't his day. He wondered which Lord of Kobol he'd managed to piss off . . .

"Are you okay?" a voice suddenly asked.

"Giles?" Greenbean managed to squeak out as he slowly sat up, pulling the air rifle out from beneath him. There was a ridge in his back where his spine used to be.

"Welcome to my new digs, Greenbean," Giles replied soberly.

"Nice place," Greenbean replied, looking around in the blackness. "Who's your decorator? The Black Pariah?"

"I couldn't afford her," Giles replied, "but as you can tell, she heavily influenced me."

"Early Root Cellar, from the smell of it."

"That's me, Greenbean. Minimalist all the way."

Greenbean stood up, stretching his lanky frame. "How long have you been here, anyhow? You seem, uh . . . comfortable."

"Close to a centar. I've patted this place down from top to bottom, and I can't find a way out," Giles replied. "Hey, do you have a light?"

"You know I don't smoke," Greenbean replied with a shrug.

"Just my luck that the one person in our group who carries an ignitor _probably_ set this up," Giles replied morosely.

"No argument here. I tell ya, when I get Starbuck and Apollo in my sights . . ." Greenbean paused a moment, gripping his air rifle. "Hey, wait just a centon. Giles, we could fire the air rifle."

Giles jumped to his feet, suddenly enthusiastic. "The eco-beads! They're effervescent!"

"Evanescent, actually," Greenbean replied, grinning at his friend's slip. "The glow is short-lived, but it might just give us enough time to spot a way out of here. Not that I don't believe you patted it down from top to bottom, little buddy, just that _your_ 'top' and mine are a little different . . ." He chuckled at his joke, patting his vertically challenged friend on the head.

"Yeah, yeah . . ." Giles muttered, roughly shoving aside the other's hand, more than ready to escape captivity and begin his new identity of Fleet Stud. "Just fire the rifle, already."

"Stand back," said the Vindicator, backing up against the furthest wall. "At short range, they might just rebound back at us."

"I'm willing to risk it," Giles said, standing beside his friend, raising an arm to protect his face. "Just don't shoot your eye out! Or mine!"

"Copy that. Here we go . . ."

xxxxx

"What's the latest, Baltar?" Ayesha asked, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders as he perused the bets. "Anything interesting?"

"One mushie detector," Baltar replied with a shrug, sitting back in his chair, patting her hand tenderly. A faint smile of amusement lit his face. "That would come in handy. Mushies are elusive in these parts."

She smiled. "You're enjoying this."

"Yes. For something so plebeian, it's surprisingly satisfying to engage in."

"A chance to participate from afar, yet to feel included," she remarked, sensing his isolation.

Baltar didn't comment.

"When you made the decision to reunite with the Fleet, it was as brave as it was brilliant, my husband."

He chuckled. "Tell me about how_ brilliant_ I am, Ayesha. It's one of my favourite topics."

"I'd rather tell you about how brave you are," she replied, walking around him, sitting herself down on his lap, gazing into his eyes. "You reunited with the Fleet even knowing that the day may never come when you could safely integrate with our population. You sacrificed much . . ."

"I don't regard this as true isolation, Ayesha," he interrupted, his tone more serious and distant. "It's not at all like . . . when I was on that planet all alone for nearly a yahren. After that . . . this kind of arrangement is infinitely preferable. So . . . it wasn't as much of a sacrifice as you say."

His candour impressed her. "Yes, but a lesser man would still be hunting us. A lesser man could not have outsmarted the Cylons and returned to us triumphantly. A lesser man would not have the discipline to patiently build trust and establish a working relationship with Commander Adama . . ."

"A lesser man wouldn't have you sitting on his lap," Baltar interjected with a wry smile.

"Well, there's that too."

xxxxx

"Giles disappears, Greenbean ends up in a snare, and now _this_ . . ." Boomer muttered darkly, fingering the tight cord that had connected the tautly tied saplings together. It was crude, but effective. He looked up at Athena. "What do you think?"

She shook her head definitively.

"You think this is someone _other_ than Starbuck and Apollo?" Brie asked.

"We're all here to have a little fun, not to hurt each other," Boomer replied, nodding sympathetically at Dietra. "And now that I think of it, there's no way they would have had _time_ to set that trap for Greenbean . . ."

"Not to mention find the rope required," Dietra added sensibly. "So who do you think it is? Someone sent in to add to the challenge of the mission? Some kind of plant? Or is this something else . . . something we should be worried about?" After the experience of a mining expedition gone wrong with Starbuck and a group of cadets that turned from educational to lethal, her suspicious nature kicked in quicker than ignited raw tylium.

"Boomer, what if it's Kudur-Mabug and Pili?" Athena brought up, the relief in her tone evident. "Kudur-Mabug is a hunter. This could very well be the way he used to trap prey on Ki. Maybe he's just practicing his skills. Cassie, Sheba, Bojay and I ran into him and Pili about a centar ago, after all. They spend a lot of time out here, communing with the closest thing to nature that we have here in the Fleet. This might even be their idea of revenge after we accidentally opened fire on them with eco-beads."

"Sagan's sake!" Boomer laughed, shaking his head. "Why didn't I think of that? Here I was thinking some crazy outcast was out here, taking us out one by one, making us think it was Starbuck and Apollo . . ."

"That's quite the imagination you have," Athena teased him.

"Crazed enemies behind every taut sapling, stalking us in the darkness," Dietra said, peering around dramatically, while massaging her backside. "Sounds like something the IFB would feature."

"All right, enough already," Boomer said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I guess when a guy spends too much time dodging laser fire, he tends to be a little oversensitive about these things," he excused himself, slightly abashed.

"By nature, we're all a little edgy, Boomer," Dietra said. "Occupational hazard, I'd say."

"I guess that's why we're here. To work off a little stress," Athena added.

"On that note, let's catch up with the others," Boomer said. "With Jolly out of the game, I'd say Apollo and Starbuck scored a point against us. Time to make that up . . . _Boom Booms_."

"Yes, sir!" they chortled in reply, heading up hill together, completely unaware of watchful eyes in the darkness.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Even with the full-face helmet covering her features, Apollo could tell without doubt that it was his wife daringly zipping down the Tyrolean Traverse, her lithe, felix-like figure holding her air rifle confidently as she soared over the lake on her final approach. The idea of exposing herself as a target obviously didn't daunt his courageous woman, not that he was surprised by that. Day after day, she took his breath away with her assurance and bravery just as much as she did with her kindness and beauty. Lords of Kobol, but he was blessed to have found her . . .

_Pow pow pow pow pow! _

Suddenly, Apollo was lying on the ground, tackled by Starbuck.

"Are you _spacehappy_?" Starbuck lectured him. "When the enemy opens fire, you get out of the way!"

"Starbuck, she's not my enemy, she's my wife!" Apollo replied in faint bemusement, just as surprised by his apparent lapse. Sheba had shot him! She'd actually_ shot_ him. His heads-up display registered a hit to his chest.

"Same set of rules, when your _wife_ opens fire, you should either get out of the way or shoot back!" Starbuck replied, getting up on one knee and returning fire at the approaching woman who had almost reached their position.

"From the Book of Starbuck, huh?"

"Simple rules of engagement . . . also works for relationships," he shot back wryly.

"You know, that actually explains a lot about you, buddy," Apollo returned with a laugh, recovering his weapon, rolling onto his belly and also opening fire on his wife. Or just above her. Then to her right . . . even knowing it was a game, targeting the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with just didn't sit well with him . . . Then again, she obviously hadn't felt similarly constrained. "Sheba! You have no cover and no chance! Surrender!"

"You sure about that, Apollo?" Sheba called back, the bravado in her tone reminiscent of her father. _Pow! Pow!_ "Prepare to be boarded or destroyed!"

"_Sheba_!" Apollo blurted out in consternation. She was coming in attached to a line with absolutely no chance of surviving this engagement, especially with him and Starbuck targeting her. "It's hopeless! Surrender!"

"Uh, buddy," Starbuck said, suddenly dropping his weapon, putting his hands up. "That's not entirely accurate."

"Starbuck, what are you talking about?" Apollo asked, turning his head to see Cassiopeia standing over him, her air rifle firmly jammed against his friend's back.

"Drop your weapon, Apollo, or the Viper Jock gets it!" Cassie barked out uncharacteristically, sounding like a character in one of Captain Byrne's Earth holoptics. She looked like she was enjoying the role just a little _too_ much.

Apollo blew out a breath of disbelief. "You didn't take her rifle! You took her prisoner and you . . . _you_ _didn't take her rifle_!"

"_Woohoo_! Way to go, Cassiopeia!" Sheba yelled, at last touching down and letting go of the rope. "We got 'em!"

Starbuck shrugged. "I, uh . . . didn't think she'd actually _turn_ on me. I _think_ they set me up . . ."

"The Aura of Starbuck backfires? Say it ain't so!" Apollo retorted, pushing his air rifle aside, putting his hands behind his head as he remained prone. They'd been rooked. Sheba had sent in Cassiopeia, suddenly undercover agent extraordinaire. They hadn't stood a chance. It was almost as hilarious as it was pathetic that they'd fallen for it.

"I don't get it," Starbuck replied, apparently in shock as Sheba whooped again in triumph while she set foot on the ground, running to an eventual stop. "I just can't figure it out."

"Maybe your aura is losing some of its _resplendence_," Apollo suggested.

"You really know how to hurt a guy."

xxxxx

"Well, Mom?" asked Cassy, coming up behind her mother in the tiny office of their kiosk aboard the _Rising Star_. Mairwen was hunched over a screen, watching as the various bids scrolled up.

"Sorry?" she replied over her shoulder. "What was that?"

"I said 'well'. How's it going, Mom?"

"Umm . . . interesting, Sweetie. Everything from a deactivated computron named Cora to a used green velvet suit."

"Eww . . ." said the girl, setting down a carafe. "Who'd want that? Someone's stinky old suit?"

"Obviously, it's precious to someone, Cassy. Don't discount what you may not understand," replied Mairwen patiently. "How is it out there?" She nodded towards the front of the kiosk.

"Nothing right now." Cassy looked again at the computer. "What are you going to bid, Mom?"

"Not sure."

"Do you know what Starbuck bid?"

"Well, the bids are anonymous, but if I know him . . ."

"It'll either be about gambling or women."

"You have big ears and a bigger mouth, Child." Mairwen chastised her, casting a glance back at her daughter. "Okay, let's . . ." With a quiet chuckle, she dragged the icon across the screen, and clicked.

"That much? Mom!" Cassy sounded aghast. "Do you know how much that's going to cost?" She turned as the chime sounded at the counter. "Yes, can I help you, sir? Oh, hi, Daniel. I thought you were in the brig."

"Out of the mouths of babes. Where's your mother, poppet?" replied the dark-haired man of medium height.

"Sorry, Daniel, I'm right here. The usual?" Mairwen asked, emerging from the back. "Cinnamon, right?"

"Always," replied Dan.

"Cassy, here comes Siress Belloby," said Mairwen. "She's done her shopping. Grab your things, Sweetie."

"Ah, Mom! But I want to see more of the bidding. Why'd you bid so high, anyhow?"

"Hey, we all need to get into the spirit of this thing," said Mairwen with a wave at the lady who had not only employed her at the kiosk, but also looked after Cassy while she worked. "Hello, Siress Belloby. Find everything you were looking for?"

"And more, my dear," Belloby replied, smiling beguilingly in Daniel's direction as Mairwen slid a steaming java across the counter to him. "My, but some _do_ like it hot." She ordered her own java, a strong dark variety known as _The Suicide Mission. _ "Maybe we can have a chat later, if that's not impossible."

xxxxx

"_Boomer. Come in, Boomer! Do you read_?"

"Bojay!" Boomer replied over the headset. It crackled with interference. "Hey, Greenbean's gone."

"_What do you mean, 'gone'_?"

"In the classic sense of the word," Boomer replied, glancing around the forested area where the warrior had once dangled out of a tree by his foot. "I guess he managed to get himself down, but there's no sign of him. What's happening on your end?"

"_I'm on the Tyrolean Traverse with Sheba and the others in sight. Sheba and Cassie have captured Starbuck and Apollo! We've got 'em_!"

Boomer chuckled aloud, relaying the information to the others. "Just don't let your guard down; those two are as slick as they get. It's not over yet."

"_Maybe not_," Bojay replied jovially, "_but I already have plans for my share of the cubits, my friend. In fact . . . what the . . ._!"

"Boj-"

"_!_

xxxxx

One micron, Bojay was zipping towards them on the Tyrolean Traverse and the next he had plunged into the lake, the taut line going inexplicably slack.

"What the . . .?" Apollo muttered in shock, still prone on the ground. "How . . .?"

"_Bojay-y-y_!" Sheba yelled, breaking into a run towards the lake.

"Frack!" Starbuck exclaimed, jumping to his feet and following her, his helmet already tossed aside as he raced towards the beach.

Cassie and Apollo followed a milli-centon later, prisoners and victors forgotten as weapons were dropped in a mad dash to ensure their friend was alright.

As Starbuck and Sheba reached the lakeside, Bojay broke through the water in the starlit Agro Dome, visibly struggling with his helmet, his gasps and choking cough echoing across the lake. He dipped back down under the surface.

"He's in trouble!" Sheba cried, pulling off her helmet, her luxuriant hair cascading over her shoulders.

"Novel, isn't it? Or is it just me?" Starbuck replied, hopping on a socked foot while jerking off his remaining boot. He plunged into the water, his strokes swift and strong as he closed the distance between them. Bojay bobbed to the surface once again, sputtering and coughing, still struggling with his helmet. Again, he dipped below the waterline.

Apollo reached the lake just as Sheba plunged in behind Starbuck. The captain took a quick moment to assess the situation, spotting the thick rope from the Tyrolean Traverse lying just up the beach.

"Sheba! The rope!" he hollered, sprinting in that direction.

"Gotcha!" she replied, catching his drift immediately.

Starbuck reached the spot he'd last seen Bojay, preparing to dive just as the warrior surfaced once again a couple metrons away. A moment later Starbuck reached around him, gripping him under one arm and pulling Bojay back to rest against him while kicking furiously to keep them both above water. The rope was already entangling his legs, just as it had Bojay's.

"Bojay! It's Starbuck!" he alerted him breathlessly. "Relax! I've got you!"

Bojay coughed harshly, obviously having swallowed some water. He relaxed slightly against the warrior, finally free to release his chin strap with both hands without fear of slipping beneath the water. Bojay pulled the helmet off at last, coughing again before replying, "I'll bet you say that . . ." he sputtered, his cough sounding wet, " . . . to all the girls."

"Only the . . . uh, pretty ones," Starbuck replied wryly, feeling the other relax in his grip as Sheba reached them. "He's okay," Starbuck assured her, taking a moment to give those ashore a thumbs-up as he caught his breath.

"Thank the Lords," Sheba panted. "Starbuck, Apollo's going to reel you in!"

"Didn't he do that yahrens ago, Bucko?" Bojay quipped.

"Tell me about it . . ."

"We just need to secure the rope!" Sheba continued, all business. She nodded back to the beach where the captain was already taking up the slack, Cassiopeia at his side.

"I don't _need_ to be reeled in," Bojay protested, even as Sheba gripped the harness below the water, tying off the line. "Especially by Apollo!"

"Well, _I_ do! I'm tired!" Starbuck argued, releasing Bojay. "You _fell_ in, an act requiring very little in the way of exertion. As for me,I _swam_ like all the way out here to save your ungrateful astrum," Starbuck replied, releasing the other man. "Think of_ me_, Bojay." He rubbed his chest, wincing slightly. "I think my heart's getting a cramp."

"The classic Colonial hero," Sheba replied dryly . . . or wetly, depending upon your perspective.

"What in Hades Hole happened, anyway?" Bojay asked, treading water as he turned to regard the others . "Did someone cut the rope?"

Sheba looked at Starbuck pointedly.

"Hey, it wasn't _me_!" Starbuck defended himself. "Remember? I was your prisoner at the time! I'm the _hero_ not the perpetrator!"

"And I'll bet you two also weren't responsible for Giles disappearing and Greenbean getting snared in a leg-hold trap," Sheba challenged him.

"Give the lady the pot, she's right," Starbuck returned, again giving Apollo a thumbs-up. A moment later there was a tug on the rope. He gripped it, letting Apollo pull him in along with Bojay. "Giles is missing?"

Sheba nodded, her brow wrinkling as she considered the matter, swimming alongside.

"Technically, so is Greenbean," Bojay told them. "Boomer just told me before I fell in the lake."

"Well then, who's responsible for all of this?" Sheba asked. "Is it part of the game?"

"Could be . . . or maybe it's a big hairy Agro-Hermit," Starbuck replied tentatively.

Bojay scoffed aloud, hesitating when he looked into the other man's eyes. "Lords of Kobol, Starbuck, you're serious!"

"I'm afraid so."

xxxxx

"Just my luck that a tribe of mutant giants built this ship," Giles said as the hatch to their temporary prison swung open. The evanescence of the fired eco-beads had revealed an emergency hatch release that he simply couldn't reach, but Greenbean could.

"Mutant giants, huh?" Greenbean retorted with a snort as they emerged into a dimly lit corridor on a lower utility deck. "About my height?"

"Yeah, exactly about your height. What tribe of mutants did you descend from again, Greenbean?"

"The Colossus branch of the Virgons, apparently," Greenbean retorted in gest. "From the Olympian Mountains. How about you?"

"The Midgetti branch of the Taurans, of course."

"How-much?" asked Cyrus, aboard the Base Ship.

"A-secton's-worth-of-premium-ground-java," replied Command Centurion Moray.

"I-fail-to-understand-how-one-could-be-equated-to-the-other."

"Baltar-said-it-had-something-to-do-with-what-humans-call-a-'sense-of-humour'."

"What-is-a-'sense-of-humour'?"

"It-does-not-compute," replied Moray. "Perhaps—if-approved—our-Colonial-Liaison-Officer-will-explain-it-to-us."

"Perhaps. Another-interrogative. Where-will-they-get-this-Base-Ship-they-are-bidding-on?"

Moray's red light paused in its cycle. "I-will-ask-Baltar."

xxxxx

It wasn't so bad that he was out of the game, Jolly reasoned, taking a big breath of the fresh forest air, and wondering briefly when he'd smell it again. What really sucked carbide vapours was the fact that he was the_ first_ one out of the game. Then again, Jolly chuckled aloud, rubbing his belly, he was also the _largest_ target.

A Viper, he figured, had a way of evening out the playing field. It didn't matter if a pilot was short, tall, thin or husky. No, once they sat in the cockpit of a fighter, all that truly mattered was skill, training, and a good wingman. Hey, a little luck didn't hurt either. Jolly ducked under a low branch, an endless array of daggit-fights streaming through his mind as he abruptly came face to face with something somewhat resembling a Borellian Nomen, startling aquamarine eyes seeming out of place amongst dirt, hair, and absolute fury.

"Who-"

The pseudo-Borellian moved deceptively fast and Jolly barely had time to register the pain that lanced through his jaw before blackness took him.

xxxxx

The drenched warriors waded ashore, Bojay detaching the rope from his harness. All three were already feeling the chill on what would amount to a cool autumnal night on Caprica's main continent, had they not been in an environmentally controlled chamber on an Agro Ship.

"Thanks for the tow," Starbuck said to Apollo.

"Don't mention it," Apollo replied, still pulling in the rest of the rope. "I talked to Boomer. They're going to rendezvous with us in the commissary so we can get to the bottom of this. Everybody alright? Sheba?"

She nodded, her features pinched. She looked like a half-drowned felix, and was about as placid.

"We're fine, although Sheba's lips are turning an interesting shade of _blue_," Bojay said with concern.

"Squadron colours," Starbuck said with a grin, pulling off his socks. "Talk about going over and above the call of duty, Sheba . . ."

"You mean to say that you never . . .t-t-t- turned blue for Blue Squadron, Starbuck?" Sheba replied, finger-combing some water out of her hair, her teeth chattering.

"Came damn close on Arcta, now that you mention it," the lieutenant replied. "Don't you miss the smell of di-ethene in the morning?" he looked to Apollo.

"And you came close again on the _Rising Star_ with Ursus," Apollo said soberly, referring back to the undercover mission Starbuck had been assigned to that exposed members of the Association, a crime ring that had been terrorizing patrons in the Market Section. Ursus had almost strangulated the lieutenant when Apollo had arrived just in the nick of time to prevent disaster. The captain pulled up the end of the rope, its end neatly cut, the implication ending the dour trip down memory lane. "Take a look at this!"

Starbuck let out a low whistle, taking the rope from his friend. "Looks like it was cut."

"What did you . . . expect?" Sheba replied, her voice tremulous as she rubbed her arms for warmth.

"_Chewed_?" Starbuck retorted with a smile, looking around at their surroundings. He puckered his lips around his two front teeth, and waved two fingers from each hand in the air atop his head, managing to mimic a Lop-Eared Lupus.

She grinned at him, shaking her head in amusement and swinging a mock-punch in his direction, before asking, "Now what's all this . . . about a big, hairy Agro-Hermit?"

Apollo raised an eyebrow in his friend's direction as he moved to Sheba's side, pulling his wife against him for warmth. He took a look around them, checking their immediate perimeter. "Did you see him, Starbuck?"

Starbuck shook his head, pulling on his boots. "No. But I'm just about willing to admit that there's a pretty good chance that _you_ did. Let's go."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The dull throb in his jaw was the first thing he noticed, followed by a cold dampness that had seeped into his bones. Jolly let out a low groan, slowly opening his eyes as he cradled his aching jaw with his hand. It took a few microns for his fuzzy vision to clear, but when it had, surprisingly, Boomer was staring down at him in concern.

"What happened, Jolly?" he asked.

Not quite knowing how to answer, Jolly shook his head, abruptly regretting it as his jaw throbbed. He could taste blood, which was never a good sign. "I . . . I got punched." He tried to sit up and was thankful for the arms that supported him on either side when his head began to swim. "Oh . . . _frack_ . . ."

"Easy, Jolly," Boomer said.

"Did you hit your head?" Dietra asked from his right.

"_I_ didn't even hit my jaw," Jolly pointed out, rubbing the back of his head tentatively, finding no sore spots as he sat up. "_He_ did."

"He who?" Athena asked, Brie peering over her shoulder sympathetically.

"Well that's just it . . . I don't rightly know," Jolly replied, trying to pull fragments of his rattled memory back into place. "It happened so fast. He was big and hairy . . . and packed a wallop." He rubbed his jaw again, wiggling it from side to side, wincing with the discomfort. Fortunately, it seemed to be merely bruised. "I didn't even do anything to warrant it. I just sort of . . . bumped into him."

"Sounds like the guy that Apollo came across," Boomer said, looking to his wife.

"But he didn't _punch_ Apollo," Athena pointed out. "His behaviour is escalating."

"He didn't _have_ to by the sounds of it," Boomer smiled faintly, recalling his friend relaying the details after they'd rescued Bojay from the lake. "Starbuck took the brunt of that encounter when he fell down a mucky hill."

"Is he okay?" Jolly immediately asked. "And what's this about Bojay . . .?"

"Starbuck's fine. That was long before he blew you out of the game, Jolly. Bojay's okay too. But Giles and Greenbean are still missing, and frankly, we're more concerned about them right now."

"What's the plan?"

"Rendezvous with the others in the commissary and take it from there," Dietra replied. "We're on a _ship_. They have to be here somewhere."

xxxxx

"Sheba, Starbuck and Bojay, go get into some dry clothes before you get hypothermia," Apollo told the three warriors as they left the environmentally controlled Agro chamber for the slightly warmer "interior" of the ship.

"I th-think I . . . I, uh . . . already _have-ve_ it," Sheba replied, gritting her teeth together to stop them from chattering. Fine shudders ran through her slender frame. "Anybody want to b-b-uild a _f-f-f-fff-_fire?"

Cassiopeia took her arm, leading her towards the locker room. "C'mon, Sheba, I'll help. We have to get you warmed up."

Sheba nodded. "I like . . . th-the sound . . . of th-that."

Apollo looked after her in concern, hesitating.

"Cassie will take care of her," Starbuck told him, blowing hot air into his cupped icy cold hands. "We weren't out there long enough for hypothermia to set in. You know that."

"Yeah, but we're a little heartier than Sheba, Starbuck," Bojay reminded him.

"I should . . ." Apollo began hesitantly, his eyes still tracking Sheba's progress down the corridor.

"You should find Eldritch," Starbuck told him. "If there's a psychopathic Agro-Hermit on board, then he of all people should know about it."

"Come to think of it, that guy sort of _looked_ like Eldritch," Apollo muttered. "Well, generally. He had the same unkempt appearance . . . "

"Well, in my experience they're more concerned about Purple Panthelons and Quietus Crawlons here on the Agro Ship than they are basic hygiene and grooming." Starbuck paused for a moment to consider his bearded friend. Mischievousness danced in his blue eyes.

Apollo quickly raised a hand. "_Don't_ say it!"

"Say what?" Starbuck returned, raising his brows innocently before breaking into a wide grin. He nudged Bojay in the arm. "C'mon, Bojay, let's go get changed."

"Changed, huh? Sounds promising, Bucko," Apollo countered with a wry grin as the two men trailed after Sheba and Cassie. "How about a few less beard cracks with the new and improved you?"

"I make no promises!" Starbuck called back, heading towards the men's locker room behind Bojay.

"You can say that again!" Cassie's voice rang out with a melodious laugh, just before she deked into the lady's locker room behind Sheba.

"Hey! I heard that!"

xxxxx

"You okay?" Bojay asked Starbuck, having already shed his sodden clothes and quickly turbo-washed. Now he was in the process of doing up his boots, while the other warrior hadn't even finished undressing. Finally, Bojay checked his laser before holstering it. "My great-grandmother moved faster than you're doing, Bucko."

Starbuck smiled faintly, noting that since he'd helped Bojay out of the drink that the other had reverted to calling him by the nickname that generally only Apollo and Boomer used. He dropped his last piece of clothing on the floor, hearing a squelch as it joined his muddy jumpsuit. "I'm a bit stiff," he replied, slowly climbing to his feet and reaching for a towel.

"Out of shape?" Bojay ribbed him.

"Maybe," Starbuck agreed, wrapping the towel around his waist as he headed for the turbo wash.

Bojay chuckled, finger-combing his hair into place. "You know, truth be known, I'm a bit sore myself. None of us are getting any younger, huh?" He arched his back, wincing slightly. "Even if it only lasts two centons, the hot water feels amazing. By the way, I never thanked you for helping me out back at the lake."

"Don't worry about it." Starbuck waved him away. "It's what we do."

"I don't forget that kind of thing," Bojay said soberly.

"Do any of us?" Starbuck countered, turning to regard the other.

Bojay shook his head, smiling faintly, before reaching out to clasp Starbuck's arm in a warrior's grip. "No, of course not. Thanks, Starbuck."

Starbuck returned the steady pressure. "You'd do the same for me."

"Yeah, I would," Bojay replied simply before turning to go. "See you in the commissary."

"Don't eat all the Earth snacks."

"The, uh . . . 'nacho chip' things? Why do you think I got ready so quickly? Jolly's on his way. Remember?"

"In that case, grab me some."

xxxxx

" . . . and from what Boomer said, this individual's behaviour is escalating, Eldritch," Apollo told the Agro Supervisor in his office, still wearing his dirty jumpsuit, "he attacked and knocked Jolly out cold, unprovoked."

Eldritch nodded, his long unkempt beard hiding his features as he sat in his dust covered chair.

"Boomer suggested it might be Kudur-Mabug, but I've never known the Kian to be so aggressive. And to have cut the rope when Bojay was still on the line . . . Besides, I'm sure I would have recognized the Kian on that hilltop, especially with that flaming red hair of his."

"No, I don't think it's Kudur-Mabug, Captain Apollo," Eldritch said earnestly.

"Then who do you think it is?" Apollo asked.

"My brother."

xxxxx

"Where are they getting the Base Ship . . . well . . . it's not what you think," Baltar sputtered, not expecting that he'd find himself in the position of having to explain this to the Cylons. How did they tap into inter-fleet communications to find out about this? How long had they been doing it?

"There-is-only-one-Base-Ship-in-the-Fleet," Moray reminded him.

"In this case, Moray, the Base Ship being auctioned is merely _symbolic_ of our alliance with the Colonials," Baltar adlibbed.

"That does-not-compute."

"Symbolism. It's the practice of representing ideas with symbols. The winner of the bidding won't actually be given command of the Base Ship, obviously. That would be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous. 'Worthy-of-ridicule. Preposterous.' Also-difficult-to-compute."

"I suppose some ideas are, Moray. Perhaps, if approved, a Colonial Liaison Officer could help you understand. At one time I thought such things were beyond your programming, but now I'm not so sure."

"We-have-much-to-learn-of-humans."

"And we humans have much to learn of your kind. It's ideas for collaboration on both parts that will ease our transition."

"I-have-an-idea."

"Yes?"

xxxxx

"Finally!" Giles said, emerging to the main level of the Agro Ship where the lighting was brighter. "I feel better!"

Greenbean chuckled at the other's enthusiasm. "So what now?"

"Revenge!" Giles insisted.

"I like the way you think. You know, if we get to the Control Centre, we could probably use the surveillance system to pinpoint Starbuck and Apollo," Greenbean suggested as they walked along the corridor.

"Isn't that cheating?"

"Actually, they didn't get that specific with the rules."

"Well, in that case it's a great idea," Giles said, his jaw dropping as Starbuck suddenly poked his head out into the corridor before pausing in indecision and turning back around, disappearing behind a hatch. He was back in uniform and armed. He clapped his fellow warrior on the arm. "I think our luck is changing, Greenbean."

"Let's get him!"

xxxxx

"Come to Papa," Starbuck murmured, digging through his recently discarded mud-soaked jumpsuit to recover his ignitor. Tragically, the accompanying fumarello was relatively mush after his little swim in the lake, although for the price he paid for them it might be worth it trying to dry it out. Surely there would be something on the Agro Ship he could use. Then again a few centars in the Desert Dome might do it. He could hear the hatch open behind him, and he turned, his mouth dropping open in astonishment when he saw who was standing there. "Greenbean! Giles! You're okay!"

"I'm not sure I like the way he said that, like he's all surprised," Greenbean murmured to his sidekick sarcastically. "Of course we're okay, no thanks to you, Starbuck!"

"What are you . . ." Starbuck began, instinctively putting up his hands when Greenbean aimed the air rifle at him. "Hey, now! I'm not wearing my gear!"

"Don't play all innocent with us!" Giles replied. "I was in that hole for over a centar! It was so dark that I couldn't see a centimetron in front of my nose!"

"What hole?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head, not knowing what they were talking about.

Giles stabbed a finger in Starbuck's direction. "_That's_ why he wins at pyramid! Look at that face!"

"Tell me about it," Greenbean groused, "he fleeced a hundred cubits off me last secton alone."

"I'm not bluffing!" Starbuck defended himself.

"Consider yourself lucky, Greenbean," Giles grunted. "He's carrying my marker and I don't even want to tell you how much it's for."

"Guys, the game is over," Starbuck started to explain, not liking the turn the conversation was taking.

"For _you_ it is, Bucko," Giles shot back with a predatory smile. "I can almost smell the cubits. Greenbean, how about you?"

"No, you don't understand . . . we . . ." Starbuck tried to reason with them.

"Time for you to get a dose of your own medicine," Giles snarled.

"You've been playing cards with med techs Tone and Garcia again, haven't you?" Starbuck quipped.

"Well, at least a guy has a chance to earn a few extra cubits playing with _them_," Giles replied acerbically. "I can't believe you locked me in a hole, Starbuck! That's low!"

"Hey, _I_ was hanging from a tree!" Greenbean inserted indignantly.

"Kind of ironic, actually, when you think about it," Starbuck murmured, looking from the tall gangly pilot to the shorter one. He studied each outraged face in turn, realizing he probably should have kept his thoughts to himself. "In a cruel and tragic sense, that is . . ."

Greenbean shot him.

"Ow!" Starbuck jumped as the eco-bead hit his abdomen, an evanescent glow filling the air. Instinctively, his hand covered the stinging spot and he marvelled for an instant how much protection the jumpsuit had afforded him while he had it on. He looked at it forlornly, all mucky, wet and crumpled in a linen chute. "Hey, that hurt!"

"I was counting on that," Greenbean said, setting his jaw and motioning with his rifle once again. "Now, move, Starbuck, or I'll shoot you again!"

"This is all a misunderstanding!" Starbuck assured them, his hand resting lightly on his holstered weapon, more out of habit than anything else. "Why do you think I'm back in uniform? Right this centon, Apollo, Boomer and the others are gathering in the commissary, trying to track down some crazy Agro-Hermit . . ."

"C'mon, Starbuck, try another one. That story's lamer than a three-legged equine," Giles spat at him, opening the hatch.

"Move it, Boray Breath!" Greenbean ordered him, gesturing with the air rifle towards the corridor. "You're our prisoner."

"But guys, I'm telling you . . . !"

"_Move_!"

xxxxx

"Just so you understand a bit about my background, when I was young, for eight wonderful yahrens my family lived off the land in the wilderness on a tiny outpost planetoid called Diocles," Eldritch explained, shifting from foot to foot, while he spoke to those gathering in the commissary. He was clearly uncomfortable revealing information of a personal nature.

Cassiopeia was examining Jolly, while the others were getting hot drinks and snacks from the dispenser. All who had made it to the locker rooms were once again in uniform and armed. Apollo glanced at his chrono briefly, looking back at the door before returning his attention to the Agro-Supervisor.

"My folks were sick and tired of living and breathing the war in the Colonies, and just wanted to just get away from it all at the time. So we packed up the farm and moved from Libra to the Diocles system. I was nine yahrens old at the time." He was silent a moment, and a slight smile crossed his face as he sat at the table, joining the others. "Those yahrens turned out to be good ones; we all loved it while it lasted. Mom tutored us. Dad worked us to the bone. Neighbours were hectares away, but each and every one of them would give you the shirt off his back." Eldritch sighed at his childhood memories. "However, as we grew older, and the war finally encroached upon our little isolated planetoid, we realized it was time for us to rejoin civilization."

"Oagh is my older brother, my only surviving kinsman," Eldritch said, seeming to straighten up proudly as he announced it. "Standing well over two metrons tall, he was a strapping captain in the Colonial service, serving aboard the _Pacifica_. He was decorated several times for valour and heroism, earing the Gold Cluster, the Silver Star and the Medal of Honour." He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "His position was overrun in combat in 7342 at Calpa, and he was listed as missing in action for over a yahren. I honestly thought he was dead and so did the service. It killed Mom. Then, as it turned out, he and several others from his unit were finally rescued during the attack on Evodus III, parsecs away from where he'd gone missing. Well . . . suffice it to say he was never the same after the Cylons got a hold of him."

"I thought he was a Borellian when I saw him," Jolly said in a subdued voice.

"No." Eldritch shook his head, stroking his beard and picking a stray twig from its depths. "He's just one big Son of a Libran."

"Go on, Eldritch," Apollo encouraged him.

The Agro-Supervisor nodded. "By the time Oagh was rescued, Mom and Dad had passed on. For a while, I entrusted his care to Veterans Health and Services. He was diagnosed with paranoid delusions, insomnia and memory loss, and as well suffered from agoraphobia. Sometimes he'd actually think he was still a Cylon prisoner; he'd have flashbacks." Eldritch cupped his chin in his hand, obscuring any view of his already camouflaged facial expressions behind his scruffy beard. "He couldn't function in public anymore. He'd even get anxiety attacks if more than a couple strangers were in the same room with him. Sometimes he'd get violent. They tried him on endless medications to treat his symptoms, but from my perspective usually he was so over-sedated when I visited him that he was sleeping in a chair, drooling. He couldn't concentrate long enough to hold a coherent conversation. His short-term memory was shot. He'd get suspicious and defensive when he was alert, if you could even call it that. His doctors didn't think he would ever be able to function normally again and they figured at that point that he'd be institutionalized for life."

"Sounds like a severe case of Combat Stress Reaction," Boomer said hesitantly, looking over his shoulder and noticing Starbuck was still not with them.

"Exactly," Cassiopeia agreed.

"Yes, but they didn't like to use those words back then."

"They don't like them much now, either," Athena opined.

"I'm not surprised," Eldritch replied. "It was more bureaucratically correct to say he'd lost his mind, putting the onus on the warrior, not the war. As you probably know, there's a stigma attached to CSR and it sure as Hades didn't fit with the Poster Boy image of the recruitment ads," Eldritch said bitterly, taking a moment to sip his java. When he continued, his tone was less emotional as if he'd forced himself to step back from his own story. "As some of you might be aware, the care of mental illness changed focus back in 7345. The Colonies went from putting victims like my brother in institutions to giving serious attention to reintegrating them into society. Hundreds of institutions were closed and the cubits were reallocated. It worked in some cases, but in many more the mentally disturbed ended up homeless, incarcerated, or dead. Many committed suicide." Eldritch's tone was bitter. Anyhow, by then I was a Deputy Agro Supervisor for the Libran Forestry Ministry. I spent long periods in isolated places, and frankly, I'd always felt my work was therapeutic. After all, trees are easier to deal with than people. It got me thinking . . ."

Cassie leaned forward in her seat, eager to hear more.

"At the time Oagh had just been released from a three sectar incarceration for assault on his former employer. It wasn't the first time he'd been in trouble since he'd left the protective and insular environment of Veterans Health. I knew it wouldn't be the last, either. They set him up in a homeless shelter in Libra City with a case worker and a parole officer. He was living in the centre of a big ugly city. His housemates were less than savoury, and relative to most of them, he was a shining example of humanity, even with his recent record. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he would reoffend. He was on a dangerous downward spiral."

"The system had failed my brother, but _I_ couldn't." He got up, refilled his java cup, and resumed his seat. "I took the first transport I could get on, picking him up and taking him with me back to the Northwest Temperate Rainforest. I was working at one of the biological testing stations there, endeavouring to rebuild the eco-systems of areas over-logged in the past or purposely burned out by the Cylons. I could still communicate with his former doctors from Veterans Health, and used some of their advice along with my own research on herbal remedies and alternative therapies." He smiled a bit. "I noticed a difference in him right away. Away from the city and people, he seemed calmer, more able to focus on simple tasks. At the end of the first sectar, I could leave him to do chores on his own in our camp. At the end of the first yahren he was helping me in my work, and was off most of the medications, although we were trialling an herbal draft with great success."

"Eventually, he was doing the job of a junior Agro-Tech, and as long as he was in a peaceful environment, he remained stable in his mood and behaviour. Although he kept largely to himself, still shying away from people, he was focussed and was holding down a job. I was so proud of him, and we were doing important work. While he didn't do well reading, he absorbed any other new information like a sponge, and his memory—at least in everything Agro-related—was almost infallible. His assistance to me in the agro-biochemical research we were doing was invaluable."

"When I got instructions to take a fully loaded Agro Ship out beyond Piscon to a newly terraforming planet, I convinced Oagh to come along for the ride. Truthfully, I was a little worried about leaving him alone without me to intervene for him should it become necessary. I didn't wait for official permission for him to join me, either. I just packed us both up and went." Again he stroked his beard, wiping his hand on his coveralls afterwards. "I've thanked the Lords for that decision a thousand times since. We were only a day's travel from Libra when the Cylons betrayed the armistice and destroyed the Colonies. We became part of the Fleet."

"So Oagh's been here all this time," Bojay said.

"And he's adapted well, with only one minor lapse some sectars ago when he told me he saw some kind of monster in the Desert Dome change shape in front of his eyes," Eldritch told them, his aquamarine eyes narrowing slightly when several heads shot up at his words. Nobody elucidated. Finally, after the silence stretched on uncomfortably for several microns, he added, "Reassurance and time seemed to make those delusions go away, however."

"Glad to hear it," Boomer said quietly.

Jolly nodded, rubbing his jaw. "So what happened today, Eldritch?"

xxxxx

"One of my centurions has just enquired about the Base Ship bidding, Adama," Baltar told him over the comm. "For the record, I personally find the entire idea of this . . . _auction_ insensitive and juvenile."

"_Of course, you're right, Baltar_," Adama agreed, cringing outwardly on _the Galactica_'s bridge. "_I'm doing everything in my power to find out who exactly is behind this. I'll put an end to it_."

"See that you do," Baltar replied, ending the transmission. He turned to Moray and nodded. "As you requested."

The centurion bobbed his head in an almost human-like gesture. "Commander." Then he turned to go.

xxxxx

Somehow Starbuck had expected that they were going to march him back into the Agro Dome and hang him from the tallest tree. In that case they would have walked right past the commissary and all those within, and this mess would have been straightened out right away. To his surprise, instead Greenbean and Giles headed down the nearest ladderwell with him situated between them for security's sake. Fortunately, only one of them was armed with an air rifle.

"How about we make a new bet, Giles? We could settle your marker. Make it double or nothing," Starbuck attempted, inwardly cursing the fact that honour dictated he couldn't pull his own Colonial laser and threaten them with personal harm until they took him seriously. Then again, his code of honour was often dictated by his circumstances. Things might change.

"What exactly do you have in mind, Starbuck?" Giles probed.

"Hey, you're not exactly in a position to be making deals, Starbuck!" Greenbean reminded him. "You're our prisoner!"

"I'm also the guy that Giles owes his next two sectars pay to," Starbuck inserted with a grin.

"_Two sectars_!" Greenbean exclaimed.

"It was a good night," Starbuck said.

"It was a rotten night," Giles said simultaneously.

"No new deals. We stick to the plan, Giles," Greenbean said.  
>"Right. So we stow Starbuck and then go find Apollo," Giles said from below, passing through another level.<p>

"What do you mean by '_stow_ Starbuck'?" Starbuck asked, his stomach flipping of its own accord as he paused with his foot on a rung. He could feel his honour shift slightly to the left.

"In the same dark hole you dropped _us_ in," Greenbean returned, looking up at him. "And don't bother denying it, Starbuck. You're as shady as a three-handed card dealer on Pineus."

"I'm hurt."

"Not as hurt as you're going to be if you don't start moving again," Greenbean warned him from above, pausing to aim the air rifle at him again.

"I'm moving, already."

It was all the warning they'd get. Giles had made it just far enough below the next deck for Starbuck to make his move. He reached up, grabbing Greenbean's boot and jerking sharply as he swiftly stepped off the ladderwell. Dang if he didn't pull the boot right off!

"Hey!" Greenbean cried, dropping his air rifle as he scrambled to maintain his grip and his balance. The air rifle was useless, suspended by the cord on his shoulder.

As soon as Starbuck's feet hit the deck, he darted down the corridor, intent on escape, boot still in his grasp. There was no way in Hades Hole that he was voluntarily going to get stuffed in another storeroom, especially after a recent encounter when he'd discovered a store of toxic Piiglin gas. Actually, this whole encounter kind of put him in mind of the game of Pursuit he'd been playing with Boxey and his friends that had kicked that whole scenario off.

_Pow pow pow pow! _

He was already to the next ladderwell. Tucking the boot under his arm, he gripped the outside of the rails, riding them down towards the next deck, feeling an eco-bead whiz past his head before he dropped out of sight. He looked right and left, trying to get his bearings as he spotted the switch for the lights. Above he could hear footfalls storming towards him. Falling back on intense military training he took a moment to imprint an image of all he could see in his mind before he doused the lights. Then he headed confidently down the corridor, as he'd once told Apollo in the magnetic void, using the end of his nose as a fix.

_Klang!_

xxxxx

"I admit I was of two minds when I approached Commander Adama about the entire eco-bead war game idea," Eldritch admitted to his audience. "As you're aware, the military has been doing training exercises here for some time, as well the Council has pushed to open the main temperate dome as a recreation area. I managed to negotiate for restricted access, but some Council members are still arguing that point. One even wants to allow the use of alcoholic beverages, for Sagan's sake. I've seen some inevitable damage to some of our species as a result of the public access, and although banning those responsible from coming back is effective, the damage has still been done."

"It would be a shame to lose access. It means a great deal to those of us who have managed to come here for a few centars of relaxation," Sheba told him.

"Yes, exactly; it's therapeutic," Eldritch replied. "I understand that. That's why it's so difficult to find the delicate balance between protecting the Agro Dome and allowing people to benefit from its natural gifts. I'm afraid when Oagh attacked Lieutenant Jolly, he was likely also protecting the Dome, or more specifically, his refuge. I'm not sure if he just wanted you all to go away or if the military-like game caused some kind of visceral reaction in him, taking him back to when he was a warrior."

"So this hasn't happened before?" Cassiopeia asked. "With other training exercises?"

"No," Eldritch shook his head. "But usually military training exercises are clearly that. One or two superior officers barking orders at a bunch of cadets. Oagh has even watched surreptitiously from time to time. But this new algorithm is slightly different. It allows people to play 'war'. You'd think after a thousand yahrens of it, we'd be sufficiently saturated, but no. Intriguingly, there's a strange lure to those not engaged in active combat to try and participate in a controlled game-like variation of the same, whether it be through role playing or in a more traditional setting."

"You're suggesting that watching two groups of warriors engage in what looked like combat in his place of refuge could have put Oagh back into psychosis?" Cassie asked.

"Speaking of two groups of warriors, where did Starbuck get to?" Bojay asked, munching on some nachos. "He was only a few centons behind me. He should be here by now."

"You know, Starbuck, he probably found a card game or a potential money making scheme. I'll go find him," Jolly volunteered, standing.

"Thanks, Jolly," Apollo said as the other man crossed the commissary. "Eldritch, you were going to have a couple of your people check your surveillance to see if they could figure out what happened to Giles and Greenbean. Any leads?"

"Tuija said she would check in if they found anything, Captain," Eldritch replied. "You have to remember that most of our surveillance is concentrated around the public areas to make sure people don't wander into restricted zones. The areas that your friends went missing in probably weren't under surveillance . . . or more likely we were using it to study apiaries, nesting areas and the like."

"Do you think that Oagh would hurt our warriors?" Athena asked.

Eldritch sighed deeply. "He's been stable for long enough that I would like to say 'no', however, by virtue of the fact that they're missing and that he knocked Lieutenant Jolly out cold, I'm just not as certain of that as I'd like to be. There is a potential that your men could be in danger."

"Skipper!" Jolly cried, entering the commissary once again. "There's no sign of Starbuck. I even checked with some of the crew and looked at the surveillance feed from around the lake. He's missing."

"Frack," Apollo muttered.

"Any sign of a struggle?" Boomer asked.

"No, sir. Nothing."

Boomer sniffed aloud. "Well, there_ is_ a bright side."

"Oh?" asked Apollo,

"Yeah. At least it didn't take us two days to figure it out this time."

xxxxx

"Where did he go?" Giles asked for the umpteenth time as light finally flooded the corridor where Starbuck had disappeared. "You found it!"

"I found it," Greenbean said, standing by the switch.

"Let me guess, it was out of my range," Giles rolled his eyes. "Gonna get me some of those platform boots . . ."

"Not this time," Greenbean replied, chuckling. He glanced right and left. "I think I also found my boot." He headed towards the next ladderwell, stooping over to collect his missing footwear. He leaned against the bulkhead as he pulled it on. "Not only does he escape, but he takes my boot with him. Talk about adding insult to injury. Boxey was right; Starbuck's wily." He paused a moment, leaning forward. "Hey, what's this . . .?"

"What's what?" Giles asked, watching Greenbean reach forward, rubbing his fingers on a rung. Giles headed that way.

"It looks like . . . blood." Greenbean frowned.

"Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?" Giles asked soberly.

"Would recently reported presumed to be fictitious stories about crazy Agro-Hermits have something to do with it?" Greenbean asked.

"Maybe not so fictitious?"

"Maybe not."

xxxxx

Someone was groaning in a pathetic, unmanly manner that made Starbuck want to backhand him . . . until he realized that particular someone was _him_. Just to verify the fact, he groaned again, recognizing the tone this time and confirming it was just as painful to his aching head as it was when the groaner was anonymous.

It was musty, damp and dark down here, but as he lay flat on his back, unmoving, it struck him that he'd killed the lights . . . just before he'd bounced his head off of something that had refused to cede way to him. It was almost amazing that Greenbean and Giles hadn't stumbled across him yet . . . in fact, it was a little weird . . . unless the steady quiet breathing that he was sure wasn't his own was in fact one of them.

"Giles? Greenbean? That you?" His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

When nobody answered, Starbuck slowly sat up, groaning again, and wondering briefly why he couldn't see the ambient light from the decks above or below through any ladderwells. It was disorienting. Then again, his right eye seemed to be sealed shut, which didn't help matters. Gently, he probed his face and forehead, finding a nasty cut on his brow that had trickled blood into his eye, leaving a sticky, coagulated mess. Like most pilots he hated blood. He hated it even more when it was his own.

"I think I need a doctor . . .or a med tech," he murmured, wishing Cassie could be there to offer him her own particular kind of tender loving care.

He sighed, taking inventory. By rote, his hand sought out his weapon, and for a moment panic suffused him. It was gone. It was a well-known fact that Command frowned on losing deadly weapons. Yeah, the last time his laser had unknowingly left his possession he'd ended up on charges for the termination of Ortega. And since lasers didn't routinely desert of their own accord, something had to have happened to his . . .

Starbuck reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his ignitor and fingering its reassuring bulk for a moment. He needed to figure out where he was and what was going on. He flicked it, startling when familiar but piercing aquamarine eyes in an unruly bed of facial hair stared at him from less than a metron away.

"_Eldritch_?" he gasped instinctively, only then noticing the Colonial laser levelled at his chest.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Arranging a search party for Greenbean, Giles and now Starbuck seemed to be the most obvious solution to those gathered in the commissary, but within a milli-centon Eldritch was kyboshing the idea, explaining why it might even be jeopardous.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," Eldritch said. "Armed Colonial Warriors out there searching for Oagh's prisoners is only going to make the situation worse. My brother's behaviour will likely continue to escalate, his psychoses worsen if we perpetuate the atmosphere of combat in his place of refuge. It could be dangerous for your friends as well as my brother."

"Are you suggesting we just sit here and do nothing?" Bojay asked.

"We're not awfully good at that," Dietra said with a frown, "especially with friends in peril."

"Let _me_ handle it," Eldritch encouraged them, pulling an old-fashioned time piece from his pocket and glancing at it. He tucked it away again. "We need to diffuse the situation right now, not make it worse."

"Thank the Lords of Kobol!" Giles exclaimed with relief, bursting into the room. "He wasn't pulling my leg after all!"

"Giles!" several announced together.

It only took a few centons for the Viper pilot to brief them on what had befallen him and Greenbean, and then later Starbuck. Having tried several hatches to see if Starbuck had either disappeared through one or been dragged, they had discovered that most were locked. Greenbean had remained behind on sentry—air rifle at the ready—just in case the missing lieutenant or his presumed assailant appeared.

"Eldritch, under the circumstances, I need to report what's happened to Commander Adama," Apollo said. "It's regs."

"Apollo, we don't know for sure that Oagh has Starbuck," Boomer pointed out.

"No, but all the evidence sure supports it," Sheba said, reaching over and squeezing Cassiopeia's hand lightly as Athena sat down on the blonde's other side. "Don't worry. Starbuck can take care of himself."

"He's even been known to drag half-drowned warriors out of lakes in his leisure time," Bojay added.

""Besides, maybe we're overreacting," Boomer said. "Maybe he's sitting in an easy chair in the Control Centre, smoking a fumarello and laughing at all of us."

"If he is, a ship-wide page should take care of that," Athena said.

Apollo nodded. "I'll report to the Commander. Athena, you page Starbuck. Let's see if he shows up."

"What about Greenbean?" Giles asked. "We can't just leave him down there . . ."

"I'm on my way," Eldritch said. "Again, a warrior presence could make Oagh worse. Much worse. I'll send your friend back up here to join you."

"I'm coming along," Cassie informed him. "As most of you could tell from the exercise, I'm no warrior. However, I _am_ trained in victim counselling, as well I'm a med tech, Eldritch."

"Cassiopeia . . ." Apollo began.

"Non-negotiable, Captain," she cut him off. "Starbuck might need medical attention, and I'm the most qualified person on this ship to provide it."

Apollo nodded, realizing that more than once she'd buried her personal feelings under her professional decorum when it was necessary.

"Very well," Eldritch conceded.

"Eldritch, do you have any idea where Oagh would take Starbuck if he has him?" Apollo asked.

"Oagh has a few favourite places on the ship, Captain. I know them all."

"Good. Because, like it or not, _I'm_ coming too," Apollo told him.

xxxxx

Awaking disoriented, it had been the vivid eye colour that made Starbuck think he was staring at Eldritch. What were eyes the colour of tropical seas doing in any man's head? It was just wrong, especially when you considered the rest of the bedraggled package. While similar in appearance, this guy was huskier than Eldritch. He looked like he bench-pressed specimens from the livestock ship for kicks.

"How do you know Eldritch?" the other asked, lowering the laser ever so slightly between them. His raspy voice was barely above a whisper. "Tell me."

Knowing Eldritch was apparently a good thing. With eyes like that, this fellow had to be a kinsman. Starbuck propped himself up against the wall, wiping at the sticky mess that had cemented his eye shut. He blinked a couple times, still squinting through his increasingly puffy right eye and realizing he'd have quite a shiner. "Our paths have crossed a few times when I've been here on the Agro Ship," Starbuck said. "I assigned some cadets to help him with a Purple Panthelon problem a while back. I also helped him test drive the Tyrolean Traverse with a bunch of kids from the Orphan Ship recently."

"_You_ brought them here." It was more of an accusation than a question. The laser went back up.

Starbuck nodded slowly, raising his free hand in a compliant gesture. There was nothing within reach that he could use as a weapon. Everything out of reach was cast in shadow and smelled of organic waste.

"Why won't you just go away?" the man asked, reaching into his coverall pocket and pulling something out.

Sheltered by his hand, it was impossible for Starbuck to make it out. "Believe me; I've had superior officers asking me that same question for yahrens."

His attempt at levity fell flat, although he hadn't exactly expected the man to burst into laughter. At least he hadn't shot Starbuck, which was probably a good sign. The warrior had the distinct feeling that the man didn't really want to . . . that he needed help . . . or maybe that was just fervent hope whispering in Starbuck's ear as he starred down the barrel of his own laser.

"What's your name?" Starbuck asked, wishing he'd paid more attention to what was said during those counselling sessions with Tarnia.

"It doesn't matter."

"Why?"

"Nothing matters anymore. It's all gone."

"The colonies?" Starbuck asked.

"Peace. Contentment. It's all gone."

"Did you ever really have it?" Starbuck asked sombrely. "After a thousand yahrens of war, did _any_ of us?"

Aquamarine eyes widened slightly, before he nodded slightly. "Those are the words of a man much older and wiser than yourself."

"You just keep thinking that," Starbuck replied quietly. "Everything is relative."

He digested that for a few microns. "To answer your question, I did have peace and contentment once. The Cylons took that away from me. You must understand; you're a warrior."

But the trouble was Starbuck didn't really understand. Maybe it had something to do with the bump on his head, but right now this guy was about as clear as skunky grog that had sat too long in the storeroom. Scientific algorithms explaining nuclear fusion were easier to figure out. The meaning of life was a simple equation made all the more clear with a beautiful woman, a fine fumarello and a glass of ambrosa.

"Were _you_ a warrior?" Starbuck asked. His ignitor was beginning to heat up. It wasn't meant to be a light source.

"A long time ago."

"How long?"

"Three yahrens."

"That's not so long. What happened? Tell me."

The man studied him for a long moment. "Do you know what it's like to be a Cylon prisoner, Lieutenant?"

Starbuck blew out a slow breath, not liking it when supressed memories reared their ugly heads. "I've been captured by Cylons twice. Once aboard a Base Ship, the other time when I crash landed on a planet."

"Were you afraid?"

"Of course, who wouldn't be?"

The bearded man paused a moment. "You came out whole."

"I was lucky. The first time I was released as a bargaining tool. The second time a rebel group attacked the foot patrol that had me before we reached the outpost. They rescued me."

He digested that for a moment. "You are very candid."

"This is warrior to warrior. Isn't it?" Starbuck asked.

"I'm no longer a warrior. I'm an Agro Tech."

"Being a warrior isn't just about who pays your salary. Once a warrior, always a warrior."

The silence that followed his statement dragged on so long that Starbuck felt a strong urge to fill it. But the best way to get a man to talk was to remain quiet.

"I was also rescued . . . after a yahren of Cylon slavery in a Cobalt Mine," the man said, dropping his gaze. "A yahren," he said bitterly. "It could have been a lifetime. Time has no meaning there." He hesitated a long moment before looking back at the warrior and adding, "I, uh . . . well, let's just say I _didn't_ come out whole."

Starbuck knew as well as any warrior that capture almost always meant interrogation and torture. Over a thousand yahrens of war, Cylons had perfected methods of extracting information from their human prisoners that could break the spirit without necessarily killing the subject. Utilizing severe physical pain was only one of many alternatives utilized, the Cylons currently preferring their Brain Probes. From what Starbuck could gather it was a lot like having your memories ripped out of your brain and dissected one by one over prolonged periods, the associated pain being commensurate with the imagery. It was only those strong enough to survive that made it to Cylon servitude.

"Aren't you going to ask me about it?" the man said after a moment, again looking downward.

Starbuck shook his head decisively. That would be giving substance to a man's worst nightmares. He didn't want to know. The rawness in his voice betrayed his feelings when he answered, "_No_."

The other smiled slightly. "That's the difference between warriors and doctors." He looked around, as if he were not so much speaking as living a memory. "They . . . they want you to talk and talk . . . they think it will help, but it just makes it worse. So they medicate you so you can deal with it. Do you know what that's like?" He raised his eyes to meet the warrior's again.

Starbuck nodded soberly. "Sometimes it's like having your head filled with cotton-balls so you can't feel anymore. Other times it's like putting a shiny new coating on everything you see, but you know it isn't real," he replied in a subdued tone, thinking back to his initial therapy after he'd been diagnosed with Combat Stress Reaction. Things were bad then. He was hallucinating and having trouble distinguishing dreams from reality. He'd actually throttled Boomer one night in the throes of a nightmare when his friend tried to wake him up. "Yeah, I know what it's like. What I don't know is how_ any_ man could come back whole from an experience like yours," the lieutenant said respectfully. "Most don't come back at all."

"Perhaps they are the fortunate ones," Oagh whispered hoarsely.

xxxxx

"Closing the bidding!" Belloby cried, slamming her controller down on her desk. Repeatedly. Hard. "They _can't_ be closing the bidding! They _can't_! Not yet!"

"No doubt Command got wind of it," Chameleon guessed, pouring her a small measure of _Lagavulin_ to calm her nerves. He crossed to where she sat, leaning down and prying the controller out of her rigid fingers and then wrapping her hand around the glass of alcohol instead. "Or maybe the Cylons did."

Belloby sighed loudly, shaking her head and taking a dainty sip of the strong liquor they had picked up on Brylon Five and were reselling in the Fleet. "All liquor under the bridge, as they say, eh Chameleon? Still, I would have liked a chance to have made a bid."

"What would you have bid, Belloby?" her business partner's representative in this venture asked her. "Just for conversation's sake."

"An engaging evening with a beautiful woman," she purred lasciviously.

"I'll drink to that." Chameleon winked at her, leaning closer. "Who is she?"

xxxxx

"Your assessment, Captain?" Adama asked over the comm after being briefed on the Agro Ship situation by his son.

"Keeping in mind that the most violent act that Oagh performed today was punching Jolly—and that was when he'd literally bumped into him, probably unexpectedly—I'm optimistic we can handle this peaceably, Commander," Apollo informed him. "I see no need for Security getting involved or formal charges of any sort, especially under the circumstances."

"How do you think Starbuck will deal with this?" the commander asked.

"Commander Adama, if I may?" Cassiopeia inserted politely. "Ironically, Starbuck's had some experience dealing with people with both psychological and neurological disorders affecting the brain, not to mention what he went through himself. Add to that all the training warriors have in dealing with traumatized civilians, he might actually be better prepared for this than anyone gives him credit for."

"You certainly have a point, Cassiopeia," Adama replied.

"Yes," she nodded. "However, on a scale of Copernicus to Sherok, I'm just not certain where Oagh will fit in. His brother certainly believes he won't hurt Starbuck, as long as we aren't confrontational."

"And if things _do_ escalate, we have some of our most experienced warriors here standing by, Commander," Apollo added.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir."

xxxxx

"So what's this all about?" Starbuck asked, indicating the weapon that was now hanging loosely in the other man's hand. The Colonial Warrior palpated the sticky bump on his brow, wincing at the tenderness there. Had he walked into something? Or had this guy crowned him and then dragged him into this storage room? It was all a little fuzzy after the _klang! _ "I don't, uh . . . quite remember how I came to be here with you. And I don't understand _why_."

"You don't remember?" the man leaned a little closer to Starbuck, peering into his eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up, Lieutenant?"

"Four fingers and one laser, set to kill."

The man smiled fully this time, his straight white teeth flashing a million cubit grin that looked out of place with the dishevelled appearance. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your vision, especially in this light. No concussion, I'd guess."

"Lucky me," Starbuck replied, watching as the other idly fingered the trigger before considering him again. "So what happened?"

"You walked into a ladderwell, bounced right off it," the man explained, his smile lingering. "I could hear the others coming after you, chasing you. I pulled you in here."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. It didn't seem fair." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Two against one. I guess I . . . I wanted to help."

"I wasn't in any danger. Those guys are friends of mine. We were just playing a friendly game of sorts."

"A game? It didn't_ look_ like a game."

"Maybe not, but it was. I swear. That was an air rifle loaded with eco-beads they were holding on me."

"_This_ is no air rifle." He lifted Starbuck's weapon slightly.

"No, of course it isn't." Starbuck grimaced, unable to dispute the fact. "They caught me unaware. We'd ended the game to look for them, so I was back in uniform and armed. They didn't believe me when I told them. Seems they had me confused with this wild Agro Hermit who had rigged some kind of trap door . . ." He paused, looking around at his current location, the haze on his still muddled mind lifting. _Oh frack!_

The wild Agro Hermit shook his head, apparently finding the story hard to believe. "They took you prisoner. You ran away."

"All part of the game," Starbuck assured him, his voice deceptively calm. "Nobody got hurt."

"But I . . . I just wanted to help you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, believe me," he said before adding, "and I, uh . . . see you helped yourself to my laser."

"Yes," the Agro Hermit nodded slowly, turning it over in his hand. "I thought you might wake up disoriented and angry. People are so angry these days. Angry and unfriendly. Distrusting." He frowned sadly. "What's become of us?"

"I'm all for trust," Starbuck said, holding out his hand. "How about you give me back my laser and we forget this whole thing?"

"I'll . . . I'll think about it," the other replied nervously, his smile dropping as he raised the weapon once again.

xxxxx

"I hate this," Giles said with a grumble, his feet up on a seat in the commissary. He glanced at the chronometer on the wall, shaking his head when only a few centons had passed from the last time he'd looked. "Waiting. Not knowing. I'm an _action_ kind of guy." He smiled at Brie as she looked over at him, giving her the full force of his winning smile.

She rolled her eyes.

"Ever wonder how we came to this?" Dietra asked. "Wasn't this supposed to be about a few centars of fun? A release of tensions? How did things go so _wrong_?" The deputy squadron leader let out a sigh. "It makes me wonder just how many people are there out there in the Fleet like Oagh, needing help, not getting it, ready to do something . . . _crazy_. I mean, how long have we been cooped up on these ships now? Even people who _don'_t have a history of mental illness or psychological trauma are beginning to feel the effects of four walls, artificial sunlight and lack of stimulation. We're only human, after all."

There was a moment of silence as those present contemplated her words, some looking away uncomfortably. Who among them _hadn't_ felt affected in some way since fleeing home?

"What _I_ want to know," Jolly asked, holding up an Earth-style _nacho_, "is how they get these chips so crispy and delicious?"

Bojay nodded soberly. "And, more importantly, do you _really_ think Starbuck will want his share when all this is done and they're deep-space cold?" He pushed the small tray of snacks he'd secured for the missing lieutenant into the midst of the warriors sitting at his table. Holding up a deeply spiced chip smothered with melted bovine curds, he studied it a moment before popping it in his mouth. "I . . ." _crunch _. . . "doubt it."

"Me too, actually," Jolly said, helping himself and wincing as he met Athena's glare. "Have you ever tasted these things when the bovine curds congeal, Athena? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, never mind one of my friends. Not even the dipping sauce can help them at that point."

"Personally, I could scrape the luscious, spicy baked-on goodness off the serving tray a centar after they're served and enjoy every scrap," Sheba claimed, using a sculpted fingernail to do just that.

"Me too," Brie added, popping Starbuck's nacho into her mouth.

"Just how did we go from the long term psychological effects of space travel on holocaust victims to the longevity and freshness limit of Earth snacks?" Athena probed, glancing from Dietra to the single serving tray of nachos being scavenged.

"Easy," replied Boomer. "We all have opinions on _nachos_. Now, since we can't do anything to help Starbuck, I say we check out the bidding on the Base Ship . . ."

xxxxx

"Greenbean!" Apollo called out as his feet hit the deck. He could see the lanky pilot standing guard not far away. He strode towards him, Eldritch and Cassie just behind him.

"Apollo!" Greenbean said. "Most of these compartments are locked and I don't have the codes. We couldn't get in! I haven't seen any sign of Starbuck, but he has to be here somewhere!"

The captain quickly updated the other warrior before pointing topside.

"Wait?" Greenbean asked incredulously a few centons later. "You want me to _wait_?"

"It will be safer for all concerned," Eldritch explained determinedly, checking his chrono.

"We'll find him, Greenbean," Apollo assured him.

"Well, okay, if you insist," Greenbean frowned, letting out a sigh and putting the strap of his air rifle over his shoulder. "But he couldn't have gone far, Apollo. I think he must be in _one_ of these compartments. It was only a matter of microns between Starbuck disappearing down here and Giles and I arriving in the pitch dark."

"We'll start here. You go join the others," Apollo nodded towards the ladderwell for emphasis. "Get something to eat. Try the nachos."

"Yes, sir!" Greenbean said, turning smartly on his heel and marching towards the ladderwell.

"Follow me, Captain," Eldritch said, suddenly heading down the corridor.

"I thought we were going to start here," Cassiopeia asked the startled warrior as the Agro Supervisor paced away from them.

"So did I," Apollo replied, striding after the other man. "Eldritch! Wait up!"

xxxxx

The wild Agro Hermit that was likely responsible for trapping Giles and Greenbean, as well as startling Apollo on the hilltop and cutting the line on the Tyrolean Traverse was now holding a laser on Starbuck. Well, he'd set out to find the raggedy man, and in a weird sort of way, he supposed he'd done just that. Lords, why hadn't he had the prescience to switch their defunct bet on the outcome of the game to cover this circumstance? _You're slipping, Bucko . . . _

Starbuck's ignitor had reached the point where it was so hot from continuously burning that he simply couldn't hold it any longer in his bare hand. He placed it on the deck alongside, wondering how much longer it would dimly light the tiny storage room they were in. Somehow the idea of not being able to read the man's body language while being held hostage was unsettling, to say the least.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Lieutenant?" His voice sounded flat and toneless in the dark chamber.

Apparently, Starbuck looked worried.

"I'm more afraid of what comes _out_ of the dark," the lieutenant replied lightly, having found his way to seeing beyond the immediate threat and correlating relevant Agro Hermit evidence. "What do you want from me?" he asked, slipping his pyramid face back where it belonged.

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" the Agro Hermit asked.

"The fact that you're holding me hostage. This is the part where demands are usually made, negotiating is done . . . you know," Starbuck informed him a little impatiently, waving his singed fingers in the air. "The laser pistol pointed at my chest does raise certain questions."

"I'm not holding you hostage," the other replied, still pointing the weapon his way.

"Then I can go?" Starbuck raised his eyebrows.

"I . . . don't think that's a very good idea."

"How about we vote on it?"

He seemed to think about it for a micron, glancing at the object hidden in his hand, before responding angrily, "Don't be flippant."

"Sorry. It's a character fault." Starbuck looked at the laser again. "My strike captain tells me it's going to get me shot one day."

"Maybe today," Agro Hermit said softly.

Starbuck shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Today's slate is full. I haven't lost a pyramid round or been put on report by the Commander yet, so I can't possibly fit in a shooting. Besides, you said you were trying to help me. Why would you suddenly turn around and shoot me, a fellow warrior?"

"I don't know . . ." the Agro Hermit replied, swallowing deeply as he tightened his grip on the weapon. He stuffed the mysterious object back into his pocket. "You talk too much. You're confusing me."

"Then take a moment to think things over. Seems to me this is all just a misunderstanding. You don't want to hurt anybody, do you . . . what did you say your name was?"

"Oagh."

"You don't want to hurt anybody, Oagh," Starbuck coaxed him. "This was all just a game. Eldritch invited us over to try out an exercise and at the same time spray eco-beads over the Agro Dome."

"And when will the Cylons come?"

Starbuck shook his head, not understanding. "Come again?"

"The Cylons that we now consider our _allies_!" he spat angrily, leaping to his feet, the weapon still pointing at Starbuck in warning. "Oh, yes. Even buried here in the forest, I hear what goes on in the Fleet." He shook his head, closing his eyes tightly for the briefest of microns. In the flickering light, shadows of torment crossed his pained features. "Sweet Lord Sagan, I can see them sometimes through the dome, their _damnable_ Base Ship looming over us like a harbinger of destruction! When will _they_ be coming to trample my beloved sanctuary? When will they take all I have left, all that I am?" he thundered, trembling with rage.

"I'm not a Cylon, Oagh," Starbuck pointed out quietly, his heart pounding as he wondered if the Agro Hermit had just come completely unhinged. "I'm a _man_. I'm a man sworn to protect our people . . . you among them. I'm flesh and blood." He touched the congealed mess around his eye, rubbing the stickiness between his fingertips to drive the point home. "Like you."

The flame from the ignitor flickered, and then died.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Apollo almost had to run to catch up with Eldritch, as the Agro Supervisor disappeared down the next ladderwell, dropping down two floors before using his code to open a compartment immersed in darkness. A wave of mustiness wafted from the room, assaulting the senses. Overhead, the strike captain could hear Cassie still making her way down the ladder, her boots clanging urgently on each rung.

"_Eldritch! _ What are we . . .?"

The Agro Supervisor held up a hand, shaking his head sternly at Apollo before looking cautiously into the room. Apollo clenched his teeth, taking a deep breath, not enjoying following the other man's lead, especially with so little direction.

"Oagh?" Eldritch said tentatively, stroking his beard as he pulled an illuminator out of his dusty coveralls. He shone the light into the small compartment, revealing two men sitting on the floor facing each other, backs to opposing walls, both shying away from the sudden brightness.

"Starbuck!" Apollo exclaimed, recognizing his friend immediately.

"You found him!" Cassie asked, stepping off the ladderwell. "Is he okay?"

"_Shh_!" Eldritch hissed, holding a finger to his lips for emphasis. "Be quiet! Please!"

It was at that moment that Apollo noticed the weapon resting casually in Oagh's lap, pointed at the lieutenant. He drew in a sharp breath as Starbuck moved a shielding hand aside to reveal a gash over his eye, dried blood trailing down the side of his face, one eye almost swollen shut. His hands were raised innocuously, one smeared with blood. Dredging up a weary smile, Starbuck nodded at him in reassurance. He was okay.

"Oagh, it's Eldritch . . . do you know me?"

The Agro Hermit snorted aloud, the sound more bitter than humorous. "Of course I know you, Brother."

"There was a time that you didn't, _Brother_," Eldritch replied.

"That was then; this is now."

"Where are you, Oagh?" Eldritch pressed. There was great gentleness in his voice.

"On the Agro Ship. In the Colonial Fleet. "

"Why do you have a weapon trained on a Colonial Warrior?"

Oagh glanced down at the weapon as if noticing it for the first time. "I've been wondering the same thing, Brother. I . . ." He sighed loudly. "I can't seem to find a safe way out of this."

Cassie stepped forward, grabbing Apollo's arm, standing at his side quietly. He gripped her hand, squeezing it reassuringly, even as he abruptly realized that she probably wasn't so much seeking reassurance as making sure he didn't try to do something heroically stupid. He looked down at her. Confirmation of the same was written in her expressive blue eyes. He nodded at her.

Eldritch squatted down in the threshold, wrapping his arms around his knees as Apollo and Cassie drew closer. "His name is Starbuck, Brother."

"I know his name."

"He's a good man."

"How do you know for sure?" Oagh asked suspiciously.

"He helps the orphans."

"Orphans are so helpable, bless their little souls." Oagh smiled bitterly. "Why couldn't_ I_ have come back an orphan, instead of damaged goods? Then maybe someone would want to help _me_ . . ."

"We _do_ want to help you, Oagh," Cassiopeia said. "Honestly."

"How?" Oagh asked, looking over at her. "There are hundreds of people like me in the Fleet. I have yet to see the Council of Twelve reaching out to us." He pronounced the name with a sneer, as if the very words tasted bad. "We're an embarrassment: the black ovine kept in the basement."

"Or in this case, the root cellar," Starbuck added.

"Do you _want_ me to shoot you?" Oagh asked him, raising the weapon once again.

"I was talking about me as much as you." Starbuck told him. "You're right, you know, Oagh. Combat Stress Syndrome and other psychological illnesses come with a stigma attached. You're judged by people who can't possibly know what you've been through, and then deemed to be weak or somehow lacking. People fear you as much as they don't understand you."

"People fear trauma victims _because_ they don't understand them," Cassiopeia amended.

"Because they don't want to_ be_ them," Eldritch added quietly. "It makes them feel vulnerable."

"Yeah, exactly. The worst part is the total loss of control, your own mind and body betraying you. Most of the time you feel like people are watching you, assessing you for the next breakdown. They're just waiting for you to fall flat on your face so they can say they told you so. Patients are treated behind closed doors in private offices where they can't be seen . . ." Starbuck swallowed hard. "Since they . . ." He paused, clearing his throat. "Since_ I_ was ashamed, that was exactly the way I wanted it."

"Ashamed to be sick," Eldritch looked at the warrior empathetically. "That sounds familiar, doesn't it, Brother."

"Hmm," Oagh barely conceded.

"You get over it," Starbuck said, the words sounding hollow. "Eventually, you get over it."

Apollo had the distinct feeling it was said for _his_ benefit. "Do you?" he asked, meeting his friend's eye . . . the other one had by now swollen shut. "Do you really, Buddy?"

"That's my story and I'm sticking to it," Starbuck replied, trying to sound like his old self and not particularly succeeding. He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Besides, _I'm_ not the one holding the laser."

"Starbuck!" Cassie admonished him.

"He has a good point, actually." Oagh chuckled aloud, the childish giggle in the man's voice surprising all who heard it, making them all smile. "'Some folks think a breakdown is a real cause for shame. Ask doctor or layman and they'd tell you the same.'"

"That's right, Oagh," Eldritch said gently, smiling at his brother's turn of verse. He nodded towards Starbuck and then the Colonial laser in turn. "Now give it to him."

"You know, Oagh," Starbuck said in a pained voice, "I _don't_ like the way he said that."

Oagh smiled at him again, turning the weapon around and gingerly leaning forward to tentatively offer it to the warrior, grip first. "I guess you won't be getting yourself shot today, after all, Lieutenant. You must be a good man if God smiles upon you thus."

Starbuck took the weapon, its bulk reassuring in his grasp, relief flooding his tense frame. "Lately, it's more likely He's laughing."

xxxxx

"Thank the blessed Lords that it turned out the way it did," Adama said to his son over the comm. Forefront in his mind was that this hadn't turned out to be another Mattoon. The near miss incident gave him hope that they were on the right track. He sighed as he looked over the Bridge, largely returned to normal since the bidding on the Base Ship had ended. A few were still checking in to see if the process would indeed culminate in someone somehow being given the Base Ship . . . although how that would work, most of them had no idea. He smiled.

"_Yes, Commander. To be honest, something good might come of all this. Dietra and Athena have an idea about the individual squadrons sponsoring a sort of cause or charity of their choosing. Oagh's right. We focus on the orphans because they are helpable, our instincts leaning towards protecting the young, and face it, none of us can go back and become children again__,__ however much we might like to__. But there are other populations out there in need, those suffering from mental illness only one of many. They're brainstorming some ideas with Eldritch and Oagh right now in the commissary about how we as warriors can take a more active part in helping our population_."

Adama smiled, humbled by the ability of Apollo's circle of friends to constantly contribute on so many levels to their society. "I'm proud of you all, Apollo."

"_Thank you, Father. And that question you asked me about Starbuck . . . about whether or not I thought he was ready for an assignment like Baltar proposed aboard the Base Ship_ . . ." He looked both thoughtful and abashed that it had taken him so long to respond. "_I think he can handle anything we throw his way, Father. I have no doubts about Starbuck in any capacity_."

Adama nodded. "Thank you for your assessment, Captain."

"_Aye, sir_."

xxxxx

"Oww!" Starbuck whined, wincing and pulling back as Cassie dabbed at his brow with some questionable toxic brown substance, probably designed to poison weeds or fertilize plants. Bare chested, he was sitting on the lone bio-stretcher in the Agro Ship's tiny infirmary, Cassie standing before him attending to his gaping wound, his soiled tunic beside him. The pungent smell coming from the astringent was making him dizzy.

"Oh, shush!" Cassie replied in amusement, wiping the last offending vestiges of crusting from his puffy eye before beginning to laser seal the wound. "What I'd like to know is how all you warriors bravely get yourself to this point, but you only complain when someone is patching you up again."

"Well, in _my_ case I'm trying to get sympathy," Starbuck replied, squirming beneath his lady's ministrations. "I think that when we get back to the _Galactica_ we'd better go to your quarters so you can check me out more thoroughly. You never know what other injuries I might have sustained. Modern medicine doesn't always catch everything, you know."

"Oh?" she asked coyly, setting down the laser sealer and holding up her biomonitor. "Do you think I've missed something?"

"I'm sure of it," he replied, taking the biomonitor from her hand and putting it down before capturing her hand and pulling her closer. His thumb idly stroked the back of her hand, the innocuous motion erotic as he held her gaze. She licked her lips, moistening them. There was something in that Starbuckian smile that was so intoxicating to her. She was helpless under his spell . . . at least that was the way that Starbuck saw it. "Besides, I'm sure you told me you want to practice your hands-on assessments so you don't rely too heavily on medical technology, especially when it isn't available to you in the field."

She smiled up at him, putting an arm around his neck and playing with his hair. She stroked his face tenderly. "You heard that?"

"I hear _everything_," he said, standing and pulling her against him fully. He whispered in her ear, "It's not my auditory abilities that you should be checking out, Cass."

"Oh? And precisely where should this . . . _assessment_ concentrate, huh?"

"Well, we might . . ." he whispered in her ear, fingers in her hair.

"_Starbuck_!" she giggled, sighing as she leaned into his lithe frame, her curves melding against his strength, her pulse quickening as it always did at the contact. "I love you," she breathed.

He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out again, feeling all the anxiety of the last few centars slip away and a comfortable familiarity gradually seep back into his bones as he savoured her sweet embrace. He was home. "I love you, too."

"Now," she whispered playfully, her fingers suddenly playing their way across his exposed flesh, finding that one spot that Athena had told her about . . . his _weakness_.

Starbuck leapt back from her embrace, eyes wide, hands held protectively in front of him as if warding off an impending attack. "_Hey_!"

Cassie grinned impishly, laughing out loud at the fact that Starbuck, Warrior Extraordinaire, had a ticklish spot . . . two, in fact. "Well, well, well . . ."

"You know," Starbuck said, his posture suddenly changing from defensive to something that could only be described as _predatory_. He grinned, his eyes twinkling with devilry. "Two could play at that game, Sweet Lady." He took a step towards her, hands extended and fingers wiggling suggestively.

"You wouldn't!" Cassie replied, wondering how the tables had so suddenly turned on her. She backed up, hands held before her as if she could ward him off physically. "Starbuck . . . don't you dare!"

"Oh, I dare . . . you'd better believe it!"

He sprang forward even as she turned and raced out of the infirmary, their combined laughter echoing playfully down the corridor.

xxxxx

"Dr. Salik, there's a delivery for you," Med Tech Tone said, briefly popping his head into the medical officer's office.

Salik looked up from the data he was reviewing with Paye. "A delivery? What kind of delivery?"

Tone cracked a boyish grin, and he laughed aloud. "You really need to see it to believe it, Doctor."

Paye quirked an eyebrow, regarding his colleague. "Sounds interesting, Salik."

Salik sighed, setting down his data pad and pushing back his chair from the desk. "Very well."

When he walked into the main station in the Life Station, his team was gathered around the desk, admiring something that they were also obliterating the view of. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat loudly and scowling in disapproval at their current unprofessional activities.

"What is all this?" he asked sternly, hands on hips.

Intriguingly, only titters and smiles met his displeasure. The mass of bodies parted in the middle and they moved away to reveal a model of a Cylon Base Ship.

"What the everliving frack . . .!" Salik blurted out as he moved closer to the detailed representation of the capital ship that had hunted Colonials for over a centi-yahren.

"What did you bid, Dr. Salik?" Med Tech Garcia asked with a wide grin.

Salik waved a hand dismissively, ignoring the question. "I_ don't_ believe this . . . What am _I_ going to do with a Cylon Base Ship?"

"You should have thought of that before you made your bid, Doctor," Paye told him, chuckling. Across the table, both Waheeb and Garcia were trying to keep straight faces. "You ole daggit, what_ did_ you bid, Salik?"

Salik sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his team looked at him expectantly. "Mutual respect."

More than one face nodded soberly.

"That's deep, Doc," Garcia said. "Nice one."

Tone shrugged. "But not very funny."

xxxxx

"So the Tyrolean Traverse is good as new," Jolly reported to Eldritch and Apollo after the warriors took the extra time to repair the damage done by Oagh. "The next bunch of kids will have a blast when they arrive to try it out."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Eldritch said, clearly embarrassed. "Thank you all. I know this didn't exactly turn out the way you had expected . . ."

"Nobody got hurt," Jolly said, as an afterthought rubbing his bruised jaw and laughing when the black-eyed Starbuck, along with Oagh, crossed to join them. "At least not seriously, eh Bucko?"

"No harm no foul, Jolly," Starbuck said, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Speaking of which, how about we organize our first fundraiser as a triad match? I know a few retired pro's we could bring out of retirement." Since the Destruction, Triad had largely been played by amateurs, most of them Colonial Warriors.

"Now that could be interesting," Apollo nodded enthusiastically. "Split up the Gold Team, Starbuck?"

"Only for charity, buddy. We all know you're hopeless without me," Starbuck ribbed him.

"His talent at triad is only exceeded by his humbleness," Apollo told the brothers aside, his voice carrying all the way back to the colonies.

"I too would like to thank you," Oagh said, towering a head above his brother. "Especially you, Starbuck." He stepped forward, unexpectedly embracing the startled warrior for a long moment, actually lifting him slightly off the ground so the lieutenant teetered on his boot tips. Jolly tittered with delight.

"You're . . . welcome," Starbuck replied a little breathlessly when he was set back down. "Let's do it again soon, huh, without the laser?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

Apollo clapped his friend on the shoulder, leading him and Jolly towards the others. It was time to head back to the _Galactica_.

"Was it too much?" all three men could have sworn they heard Oagh asked.

"Shh!" was the reply.

Starbuck staggered in his step, grabbing Apollo by the arm and pulling him to a halt. Apollo had mentioned that when they were searching for him that Eldritch kept checking his chrono. Oagh too had been sneaking surreptitious peeks at something concealed in his hand, probably a chrono. Eldritch's sudden appearance with Apollo and Cassie at the moment when Oagh had lost his temper might have been _too_ well-timed, a little _too_ orchestrated, Oagh's recovery a little _too_ swift. "Lords of Kobol, were we just . . .?"

"_Starbucked_?" Jolly asked, chuckling under his breath.

"Yeah, buddy," Apollo laughed, recalling how Eldritch had _known_ which compartment to go to, not even bothering to check the others. "I think we were."

The three men turned to look at the brothers standing close beside each other, both waving goodbye nervously.

"It's for a good cause," Apollo reminded the other warriors. "While their approach was a little unorthodox, at least they drew attention to an issue that really needs to be addressed."

"No harm no foul," Jolly reiterated, "eh, Bucko?"

"And all those other nonsensical sayings that still leaves me down seven hundred cubits," Starbuck replied wistfully, sighing long and loud. "Ah well, easy come . . ."

"Easy go!" the other two joined in.

xxxxx

"Commander."

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Sir, it seems that the mock-up of the Cylon Base Star is missing from the war room," Tigh report crisply, his tone betraying his annoyance as he took the stairs on the command dais two at a time.

Adama raised his eyebrows, before turning to regard his executive officer. "Missing? How strange. Now what would anybody want with that? Do you have any leads, Colonel?"

"Only that it was just announced that the highest bid in the Base Ship lottery was awarded to 'Mutual Respect'," the colonel replied, his lips settling in grim determination. "When we find 'Mutual Respect', I suspect we'll find our Base Ship, Sir."

"Why, Tigh," Adama said, deliberately obtuse, the hint of a smile on his lips, "I thought we already _had_ mutual respect."

"Not you and I, Adama," Tigh replied, cutting short his reply when he realized the other was ribbing him. "Despite the situation, that Base Ship is necessary for tactics and strategy training. While I'm sure that whichever warrior who did this finds it absolutely hilarious," he paused a moment, looking across the bridge, and wondering _who_, " it's an infringement on regulations and simple theft. If Starbuck wasn't on the Agro Ship, I'd haul him in by the collar to strip and module him just for the sake of discipline. From the point of decorum, we can't let the perpetrator get away with it. Orders, Commander?"

"Go ye forth, Tigh, and seek the culprit," Adama said, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze baleful. "Leave no hatch unopened, no launch tube unexplored. We must catch the man, woman or child responsible for this infamy! And he'll pay, Tigh, believe me, he'll pay."

Tigh raised his eyebrows, seeing the mirth lurking in his commanding officer's brown eyes. "That's not funny, Adama."

Adama leaned towards him, cupping a hand to his mouth for complete privacy, before whispering, "Wanna buy a Battlestar, Tigh?"


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

"_Overall, I'd say that went rather well_," Baltar said over the comm from his quarters, nodding off screen as he was handed a libation. "_Thank you, Ayesha, my dear_."

"I agree," Adama replied, holding a steaming mug of his own in his quarters, and strangely feeling as though they were sharing a social moment, which may have been apropos considering their little plot. "For perhaps the first time, 'Cylon Base Ship' can be mentioned in humorous terms instead of with dread or resentment, Baltar. It was a good idea."

Baltar smiled unctuously, "_Why thank you, Adama. Did any of your staff suspect you_?"

Adama took a sip of the hot drink, chamomile and mint mingling in both aroma and taste. "Possibly Colonel Tigh. Admittedly, I haven't been known for practical jokes since my Academy days."

Baltar raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise. "_Funny, I would never have pegged you as a jokester_."

"Discussing the peace process in Council Chambers wasn't really the place."

"_No, of course not_," Baltar replied, his smile slipping as his part in the Destruction was thrown in his face. "_About that other matter_ . . ."

"Lieutenant Starbuck as a liaison officer?"

"_Yes_."

"I admit, I have some concerns. He has a tendency to be a bit of a loose cannon, as I'm sure you're aware from past experience."  
>"<em>Yes<em>," Baltar admitted. "_And I realize of course that his being a prisoner aboard my ship once before does have the potential for . . . complications as it were_."

"I'm pleased you acknowledge that, Baltar. It's that variable that leaves me wondering if he would find such an assignment . . . traumatizing, for lack of a better word." After the latest incident with the Agro Tech, he didn't want to initiate a string of events that would propel Starbuck into a potentially volatile situation.

Baltar nodded, seeming to understand. "_Perhaps we could modify our original plan, Adama, and have the lieutenant spend a few centars with my Cylons, let's say . . . once a secton or so, instead of actually being posted here. Would that be less . . . traumatizing_?"

"A compromise?"

"_Yes. If that's agreeable to you_?"

Adama smiled. "It sounds reasonable, Baltar. Perhaps a good start to finding our way to _mutual respect_." He raised his mug to the camera.

Baltar returned the gesture. "_Indeed_."

xxxxx

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last battlestar, _Galactica_, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest, a shining planet known as Earth.

xxxxx

With thanks to Senmut, Beta Reader Extraordinaire.


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